Rebirth
by GreenWood Elf
Summary: Audrey didn't really believe in guardian angels. The angels, however, really believed in her. Gabriel/OC.
1. Chapter One Conception

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to "Rebirth". This fic is my take on the "Audrey survives the accident" scenario, which I have always been intrigued by but somewhat nervous to attempt myself because, well, I do dislike Audrey. However, I must say, I have thoroughly enjoyed getting in her head while writing this story and I think I just might like her now.

I was originally hoping to keep the chapters of this fic short (roughly under 2,000 words) but as I have an inherent tendency to be long-winded, I doubt I'll stick to my word count, haha. Anyhow, thank so much for stopping by! I do hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Rebirth**

**Chapter One Conception**

The two angels landed in the desert, their boots crunching on the hard-packed sand as they settled and shook the cold air from their wings. The dark had crept in-between their feathers and had crawled into the marrow of their bones, leaving them shivering with gooseflesh raised along their arms. It was a tremulous sort of night, the great plains of the earth still echoing with the sound of the final trumpet, the last, lonely dirge of a dying and forsaken world. And the angels were like jewels, set against the stones of the wasteland. Figures of austerity in a stark landscape. Ascetics in the wilderness.

Uriel stood amidst the wreck. He stood amidst the jagged metal teeth of a discarded bumper and the pieces of shattered windshield and the gasoline that leaked from the battered cruiser, filling the wind with a smell that was not unlike blood.

The highway was empty.

The angel lowered his head and wept, silently, softly, into his hands. They were not here. He had hoped, he had prayed to find them, but they were not here. Gabriel and Michael, gone. Gabriel and Michael…dead.

Hot tears trickled over his fingers.

"I hate them both," Raphael said from some distance away.

Uriel opened his eyes to look at her. She was crouched down close to the road, close to the sticky blacktop that stank of burnt rubber and melted tar and blood. Yes, there was blood.

_Vulture_, he thought, noticing the curve of her wings. Her expression was that of a scavenger's. A picker of bones and rotten meat.

A ripple of disgust ran through Uriel. "You should not say such a thing," he admonished, surprised at her bitterness.

Raphael had never been vicious. She had never been cruel. But this night had done horrible things to her, had taken her face and misshapen it into something ugly. Had put darkness into her eyes and unnamable sorrow. Had made her a vulture.

_Bone-picker. Wretch. _

It pained him to see her so. He thought briefly of leaving her, of continuing the search on his own, but then he remembered that she had asked for his help. And he could not deny her now.

It would be heartless to do so and he was not heartless. Unlike Michael. Unlike Gabriel.

_Why? Why had they done this?_

"We will find them," Uriel said, his voice boasting a confidence that he himself did not feel. The absence of it left him cold. Hollow. His heart was punctured, pouring bile into his gut, mixing noxious fear with sorrow and yes, maybe a little anger.

Anger at Michael for disobeying Father. Anger at Gabriel for obeying, for being willing enough to kill a brother. Anger at himself and Raphael for being too weak to stop them, although they had tried.

They had tried.

Uriel stared at his feet, the black of his boots standing out against the straight yellow lines that divided the road into two lanes. He had never felt so hopeless. And he had never seen Raphael so wretched.

Wretched. Wretched. They were all wretches now.

"Do you realize," he began, keeping his eyes on his feet, "that tonight is Christmas?"

Raphael had wandered further away from him, her nose nearly pressed to the ground. She brushed at the bits of metal and glass with her healer's hands. "Ironic," she muttered and said nothing more.

"We are hardly the angelic host we were at Bethlehem," Uriel replied. A gust of wind spiraled down from the distant mountains, unfurling along the flatlands in with low, piteous moan. Things were so different now, so different from what they were…

"Hark! The herald angels sing," Uriel uttered, his voice dampened by withheld tears. "Glory to the newborn king, peace on earth and mercy mild. God and sinners reconciled…" He stopped there, unable to continue.

Such hope. Such hope. This is what it had come to. The end.

"Sentiment," Raphael said. She had her back to him. "It is inappropriate."

"And yet your heart is broken," Uriel said, sparing his companion one sidelong glance.

Raphael's posture became rigid, but she did not stop her search. Uriel knew he had wounded her, struck a sensitive chord and he felt ashamed of his thoughtlessness. They needed each other, after all. Needed each other now that Michael and Gabriel had turned from them, had broken the only love and bond that every truly mattered.

Tears trickled down Uriel's cheeks. He brushed them away with a thumb and tried to gather himself. Raphael was right, as usual. Sentiment was inappropriate.

"They cannot have gone far," he tried to say, but the words came out as a stammer. "They cannot-"

Raphael straightened up, something in her hand. It caught the tepid light of the stars and Uriel saw at once what it was. Long, tapered, lethal. A hint of crimson about the quill, where it had been cruelly plucked from a wing.

He winced in sympathy and in recognition. "Gabriel. He was here, then. He was-"

"Hurt." Raphael threw the feather back to the ground, where it landed with a soft, metallic ring, a little silver bell jangling against the tar.

The noise was shrill in Uriel's ears. It set his teeth on edge. "Do you think it might have been Michael?" he asked, feeling his pulse rise and beat in his throat, just above the line of his iron collar. "Do you think they-"

"Fought?" Raphael spat out the word. She turned away from him, the edge of her cloak whispering over the broken glass. "I do not doubt…I do not…Uriel, I hate them both for this!" And then she was sobbing, wildly, inconsolably. It was a primitive sound. Animalistic. Hysterical.

Uriel's heartbeat quickened, the blood rushing to his ears. _This_, he thought. _Yes, this. _

This awful reckoning. This end…this definitive and decisive end. Gabriel and Michael. Gabriel and Michael. It should not have come to this, it should not….

Uriel's face felt hot. "We will find them," he said, but his assurances were faint, too feeble to steady Raphael. She was even now wavering, standing on the edge of some great abyss. And he would hate to see her fall.

No one would be there to catch her if she did.

"They are gone," she declared savagely. "We should not have come looking for them here."

"We could not wait."

"Do you think we might have stopped them? Do you think they would have ever listened to us?"

"I would have tried."

"I did!" Raphael cried, her face pale and waxy and like a death-mask. "I tried. And here it is now. Here it is. I hate them both for this. I hate them-"

"Enough!" Uriel shouted, the word straining in his throat until he was hoarse.

Silence reigned. An uncomfortable quiet. The wind moved and cried, disturbing the bone-white boughs of the low, stunted desert trees. Bruised clouds skirted the horizon and then disappeared. Muted moonlight shone down on them.

Raphael went rigid. She shuddered and emitted a final, whimpering sob. "They might be dead," she muttered. "There is blood."

Uriel recoiled, repulsed by her hopelessness. "You are wretched," he said at last.

"They have made me so."

And it was true. Uriel thought that he might hate her then, if he did not feel the same pain splinter his own soul, tear at him and gnaw at him until he thought he had fallen and was burning in the Pit.

_Michael and Gabriel_, he thought, as the first of her bitterness reached him and settled in his breast. _You have destroyed us all. _

And they had tried to stop them. They had tried, but failed.

He saw Raphael pacing frantically. Saw her step over the vines of twisted metal and the shreds of tire and the places where the road was scarred with skid marks, where the car had gone off onto the shoulder and flipped, tumbling through the desert in a spray of sand and gory, human debris.

And Michael and Gabriel, had they too been part of the carnage?

Perhaps.

More than likely.

Raphael could be right. She usually was.

Uriel's knees weakened. He doubled over and finally retched, hearing the disapproving click of her tongue as he did so.

"Do not be weak," she accused. "Do not be weak like them."

"They were not weak," he rasped, cringing as saliva spilled from his lips. He was disgusted with himself in that moment. Revolted by his trembling hands and the tears that made his eyes bleary and his failure, his utter and complete failure. This night, this night, it had done horrible things to him too. "Michael and Gabriel, they-"

"Michael disobeyed Father."

"And Gabriel obeyed," Uriel countered.

It was the most awful paradox, the only thing that could tear two brothers apart. And it had. Violently. Perhaps fatally. And they were left behind. Raphael and Uriel. An awkward, nervous pair, searching for what they had lost in a ruin of a world on the very night of the apocalypse. Searching, and finding nothing.

"No one is too blame," Uriel continued, although he wasn't sure if he believed himself. Michael had always been stubborn. Gabriel had always been righteous. And Raphael had warned them as she always had. She had seen the end before they ever did.

_Cassandra_, he thought, remembering the Greeks and their fantastic tale. _No one believed poor Cassandra either. _

He heard Raphael snarl, the noise sounding foreign when coupled with her fluting voice.

"Do not be naïve," she began. She was still striding over the wreck, moving down the road, away from him. "Do not be-"

She stopped. She stepped back.

Uriel noticed her shoulders tense, saw her wings raise in warning, the warrior poised and alert.

He gripped the hilt of his sword.

"Raphael?" he questioned, all traces of trembling and uncertainty banished from his tone, his voice becoming the steady tenor once more.

Raphael lifted her hand and beckoned to him. "Come see," she said. "I think it lives yet."

_Gabriel, _he thought numbly. _Or Michael. _His legs filled with lead and ached. Like a lame man, he dragged himself down the road, caution keeping his steps slow, keeping his arms tense and stiff with adrenaline. Raphael was bent at the waist, a few strands of her hair dusting the ground. Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Oh!" Uriel's gut heaved when he saw what she had found. It was horrible. A tiny human all twisted and bunched together like the pieces of metal and the discarded bumper. Some of her skin had been scrapped off by the road and she was bleeding and broken and ugly.

A stench rose from her, the pungent, rotten odor of impending death and decay. But the human wasn't dead yet. She moved. She twitched. She moaned. Blood matted her feathery hair to scalp and there were strange trails of black down her cheeks, as if she had wept ash. Pale bubbles of mucus and fluid frothed around gaping mouth. Her clothing, which appeared scant to begin with, had been torn in many places, leaving her left breast exposed, along with most of her buttocks.

The angels stood over the human and watched her.

After a moment of quiet curiosity, Raphael's anger seemed to fade and her face became sorrowful. "I hate to see such little things suffer," she told Uriel.

"Mercy," he replied, even as a sigh parted his lips. This creature was not one of them, It was not Gabriel. It was not Michael. Only a little human. A poor, little human.

"He taught us to be merciful," Uriel rattled on, struggling to speak even though he was faint with relief. "You should kill it."

"I should," Raphael said. She reached for the human, her fingertips touching a hunched shoulder, the muscle knotted beneath the bloodied flesh. "I do not wish to see it suffer."

"Father has ordered us to forsake their kind. Kill it," Uriel almost begged. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he wondered if it was Gabriel who had done this. Or Michael. They were both of them capable of violence and if this human had gotten caught between them…

…so much blood, there was so much blood.

Raphael kept her fingers on the human's shoulder. "I do not want it to suffer," she repeated. "I do not-"

But then the human stirred. Then she jerked awake. Her eyes, with their tears of ash, opened wide and scared and in pain. In horrid, desolate pain.

Uriel thought the human would scream and he braced himself, waiting for the sound to wash over him, to haunt him with its sad, empty lament. But the human did not scream. She did not even cry.

"Mommy," she said, looking at Raphael with a glazed and dumb expression. "Mommy."

And then the pain took her and she fell back into a stupor. A crumbled little thing. A smudge of red and white against the hard blacktop. The stench of death rose from her. It was coming. It was coming.

"Please," Uriel said, grabbing Raphael's wrist and shaking her. "Do it."

But Raphael was slack-jawed. "I cannot," she said simply. "I cannot."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>The archangel Raphael is accepted as one of the canonical archangels in Judaism, Roman Catholicism and Islam. Appearing in the Book of Tobit, Raphael is sent in human form as the guardian of Tobias. Generally, he is depicted as male. In this fic, Raphael will be portrayed as a female angel. The issue of Raphael's gender, however, along with the appearance in the Book of Tobit, will be discussed at length later on in chapter four.

Thanks so much for taking the time to read! If you have a free moment, please leave a review. Feedback always makes my day. The next chapter has already been written and should be posted in a week. Take care and be well!


	2. Chapter Two The Unforgiving

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to the second chapter of "Rebirth". Before we begin, I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to read the first installment and those that reviewed, **saichick, Maladicta,** and** Faith-Catherine. **In addition, I'd like to thank everyone who added this fic to their favorites/author alerts lists. I am so very grateful for your kind feedback and support. Thank you! I do hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Two The Unforgiving**

Gabriel fell. He dropped off the face of the cliff and plummeted, leaving behind what remained of his existence. The human couple and the child and Michael. The bulk of his failure, of his loss, of all that he was and all that he had been and everything that was now taken from him.

He fell.

The ground, a pattern of silver sand and ink-colored rocks, rose up before him quickly. Gabriel stretched his wings at the last moment and let the current of the wind lift him high into the air. The blood from his stomach wound splattered on the grey stones below. It made an ugly, wet sound. Like a death rattle. Like the last breath drawn before the end.

_The end._

Gabriel reached his arms before him, his muscles aching, his fingers bruised from when he had punched his hand through the roof of the police cruiser. The metal had torn into his flesh, leaving serpentine trails of blood on his forearms. Long, lingering scratches. But the marks were superficial. He would take the scars. He would take the pain in his stomach and shoulder over the growing agony within, over the thing that brewed in his soul. His regret. His anger. His shame.

And he realized then, as he glided over the empty Mojave, that Raphael had been right.

She had warned him, but he had refused to listen. She had pleaded with him, but he had called her a fool.

Hindsight was dreadful, a penance forced on the blind, on those who refused to see, on those who would not take heed…

Why had he refused to listen?

Why? Why?

"Stop!"

The voice reached Gabriel through the darkness, through the fleeting shadows of the evening clouds. For a moment, he thought it was Michael. His brother had come after him, a figure of eternal forgiveness, of wretched, undimmed mercy.

Mercy. Mercy. Gabriel would take the torment, take the pain of a sword driven into his gut over Michael's mercy. His misplaced mercy.

And Raphael, she had warned them. She had warned them both.

Gabriel slowed slightly, his wings rising and falling, the wind whistling through each of his lethal feathers. He lowered his hand to his belt, finding the shaft of his mace.

_Michael_, he thought as the dread of an anticipated encounter filled him. They were not finished yet. There would be more…

"Gabriel!" The voice that came to him was nervous. A string on a harp pulled too taut, ready to snap. A worried, warbling tone. _Not Michael_, Gabriel thought. He was surprised when he felt disappointed.

Gabriel shifted, dropping his legs beneath him, hovering for a fraction of a second so that he could see who had come up beside him. But the small movement, the tensing of injured sinews, made him realize just how weak he was. His fingers were wrapped over the shaft of the mace, but a tremor infected his grip, a palsy brought on by blood loss and acute trauma.

"Who calls to me?" he asked, his hackles raised, a certain sense of wariness snapping into place. If he had to fight now, if he had to renew his battle with so little strength and even less spirit, he knew the outcome might not be favorable.

It might even been fatal.

The figure was circling, dipping his wings, flying low. Uriel swooped over him in a smooth dive.

"Gabriel!" the archangel chorused. His face was smiling, his eyes tiny pinpricks of diluted fear.

And Gabriel felt his disappointment cede to relief. He was not alone. Not forsaken. Perhaps this wasn't the end after all. Perhaps, yes perhaps, there existed a rare glimmer of hope. A faint, distant promise of redemption. Of reconciliation.

He was not alone. He was not alone.

"Uriel," he said, his words rushing from him in a great sigh of relief. "Did Father send you?"

Gabriel could not disguise his optimism now, or at least the prospect of it. If Uriel had been sent to aid him, then things might not be as Michael had said. He might not have failed. He might not be in disfavor. He might have been right all along to sacrifice and obey and to do what was asked of him.

And Michael, for the first time in ages, might be wrong.

Gabriel's mind was besieged with the possibility of it all and he succumbed to it, falling a few feet as his wings weakened, the joints giving way as they failed to hold his weight. His flank was doused with fresh blood and the landscape became fluid, a scene of watery hills and sand that ran like streams.

Uriel put his arms underneath Gabriel's and pulled him up with one powerful thrust of his wings.

"No, we came of our own accord," he replied. His smile sagged, lines forming around his small, thin-lipped mouth "Gabriel, you are bleeding."

Fear. It was evident in Uriel's voice. Gabriel sensed what was coming. The inevitable question. The driving need and curiosity behind his fellow angel's concern. _Where is Michael? _

But Gabriel could not bear to hear it, for hearing it only acknowledged the truth of the matter. Michael had triumphed. And he had failed. It was simple, painful and Gabriel could not surrender what remained of his pride to Uriel's inquisitiveness.

With some difficulty, he steadied himself in the air, delving into the last reserve of his strength to keep his wings beating.

"Michael lives," he grated, removing himself from Uriel's gentle grasp. He paused, then added. "It is over."

"Oh!" Uriel tried to maintain his hold on at least one of Gabriel's arms, his long fingers squeezing around a thick wrist. "How came this to be?"

Gabriel struggled to swallow, but his throat was tight. Another miserable question. And yet, he could not condemn Uriel for his curiosity. The younger angel was kind. Soft-hearted. The white-lipped terror of his expression was volatile, his utter panic all too obvious as he watched one comrade bleed before him and worried after the absence of the other.

"I do not know," Gabriel replied, his breath streaming out of him in a cloud of gossamer vapor. The air was chilled and he winced as it snuck through the crevices of his creaking armor, as it froze the blood to his flank and stiffened all his aching muscles. "Father forgave him. I know nothing more. It is finished, Uriel. I can tell you little else."

Uriel's fingers twisted over his wrist, tightening until Gabriel felt an unpleasant numbness in his fingers.

"Uriel," he scolded, shaking himself free.

But the other angel wasn't listening. He had thrown his head back, had turned his eyes to the heavens and his mouth, splitting in a wide grin, sang hosannas and hallelujahs and fervent, all-consuming hymns of praise.

"Joy!" Uriel cried, drawing his legs up underneath him and then kicking off to spiral in the air. "Gabriel, we should be joyful!"

And Uriel seemed oblivious, lost to his child's happiness, to his own cloistered innocence.

Gabriel almost envied him.

"Joy is a strange word," he replied, somewhat more harshly than he intended to. "There is no joy in this." He touched his stomach with his palm and kept it pressed there, feeling his life pour out of him. The blood was flowing down his torso now, down his legs. His head swam.

And all he could think of was Raphael, with her healer's hands and her warrior's eyes and her sad, sad voice.

She had warned him. She had warned them all.

"I am falling," Gabriel told his companion. His wings went limp, the last of his resolve draining away, leaving his body loose and limp.

Uriel ducked closer towards him, snaking his arms around the larger angel's chest. "She came with me," he grunted.

Gabriel's head rolled around on his neck, the muscles aching in protest at every little movement, at every twitch and tremor. He tried to look up at Uriel, but saw only faint bursts of black stars. "I do not-"

"Raphael. She came with me. She is not far. Can you fly to her?"

_Raphael. Raphael. God, please heal._

"I did not listen," Gabriel muttered, sagging against Uriel's trembling body. "I did not listen. She was sad when she warned me. She wept.

Uriel's steel-grey wings quivered. With much effort, he hoisted Gabriel up besides him. "I cannot bear your weight. You must-"

"Where is she?"

"Near. But you must fly."

"Show me," Gabriel insisted. He shook his wings, buffeted the air about him, let it support his body. He must be strong. He must have strength. He must not…

He must not let her see him like this.

"Show me," he said, his tone now an unreliable vibrato.

Uriel released his hold on Gabriel "She searched for you," he said, the lines around his mouth deepening, sympathy replacing the fear in his eyes. Uriel had always been sympathetic…

And Raphael, she had always been the healer.

"She will not understand," Gabriel said, dreadful knowledge sinking into him, settling in his lacerated stomach like a sharp stone. He was weighed down by it.

Uriel suddenly looked frightened again. "Not far," he echoed. "Not far."

* * *

><p>They came to a place in the desert, a soft bowl of land that was guarded by small trees and shallow ditches and piles of rocks that almost looked like primitive burial mounds. The air was cool and dry, although a fitful breeze stirred the low-lying grasses and shrubs in undulating waves of silver-green that stretched across the desert floor. Gabriel barely had enough strength to guide himself to the ground and he crashed into Uriel's when they landed, tumbling in the dust like a miserable bird with clipped wings. His abdomen was splashed with crimson and his shoulder ached and there was a patch of burning red on his temple where the flare had hit him.<p>

But all these hurts were little, insignificant things compared to the bolt of agony that coursed through him when saw Raphael. She was standing on the edge of a narrow ditch and her healer's hands were clenched at her sides, the light blue veins roping over her knuckles, the tendons in her wrists bulging.

Gabriel felt haunted as he looked at her. A pale shadow in a dead world. He realized then that he should have expected this. Raphael was tolerant, but not a fool. And she had enough cause to be grieved. To be unforgiving.

He said nothing to her at first, and she said nothing to him, only stared as Uriel helped him lean back against the trunk of a solemn Joshua Tree. Her eyes were murky. Her brow was soft. But her grief was real and she bore it like a creature in mourning, a soul separated from what it loved.

Or what it _had_ loved.

After Gabriel had settled himself and Uriel had stepped away and he was left alone, sitting like an abandoned child, he tried to say something to her. He thought he might offer her an apology, perhaps. Or plead for forgiveness. But in the end, he could find nothing, no petty words that might assuage her potent sorrow.

Silence kept him. Locked him away. He held his tongue.

When he did not speak, Raphael made a small noise in the back of her throat, a sound of derisive amusement laced with raw pain. She brushed past Uriel and knelt before him, an ugly figure with taut, grimacing lips and sharp, jutting cheekbones.

Gabriel found it hard to look at her. He was…heartbroken.

"You told me," she began, her voice raised. "You told me, Gabriel, that you would never quarrel with Michael."

"Raphael," he said her name, spoke it as a warning. "It is finished. Michael lives. The child he sought to protect lives. Its mother lives. And Michael…he has been forgiven his disobedience."

He thought this would comfort her, but she only ran her tongue along her teeth and screwed her lips into a scowl. "It does not matter," Raphael replied. "The end came. I knew it would. Michael would not listen to me when appealed to him for reason. I can almost expect it from him, but from you? I am shamed. You shame me."

Gabriel's swallowed the angry words that rose in his throat, forced himself to adhere to his doctrine of tempered silence and tattered dignity. But he had not realized, could never have believed her to be cruel. Cruel. He did not realize how cruel she truly was.

"I see nothing of the healer in you now," he told her.

Raphael stared at the ground, spitting out a sob. "Gabriel, I-"

Uriel murmured something that sounded faintly like, "Raphael, please don't."

She ignored him, but fell silent nonetheless, her grief ceding to quiet hostility. "The healer," she echoed and then laughed wildly. "Physician, heal thyself!"

Uriel stepped forward, his expression conciliatory. "Gabriel, she does not know what she says," he said.

"And you are not without blame," Raphael replied, twisting her neck so that she could look over her shoulder and offer him a glare. "You were too cowardly to interfere. You would have let them tear each other to pieces without protest. I am disappointed in you, Uriel."

"That's enough," Gabriel rumbled, seeing how Uriel's gentle face darkened and how Raphael menaced him like a rabid dog. He started forward, but the pain stopped him, lancing through his abdomen. The memory of cold metal, of a keen-edged blade kissing flesh, washed over him like a waking nightmare.

Gabriel's lips parted and he exhaled, willing the feeling of weakness to pass. It did not.

He heard Raphael's boots shifting on the rocky soil as she raised herself into a crouch. "Yes, it is enough," she said. Her voice wavered, touched by a shadow of concern. "You are wounded."

Soft, there was softness in her words. For the first time, Gabriel felt himself relax. "Physician," he murmured, presenting her with his peace offering. "Heal _me._"

He thought she might accept that. He thought she might even smile at him, shake her head a little, but forgive. He thought she would forgive him.

She did not.

Her manner did change, though. It became calculated, the withering heat of her rage freezing into an static sort of coldness. " I must attend to your injuries," Raphael said. "Do not move." Her hands were rough when she gripped his wrists, prying them away from his stomach, from the place he had clutched to keep in the blood and the pain.

His fingers tightened instinctively, his forearm stiffening as he resisted, but he kept his voice calm. "You are angry," Gabriel acknowledged.

Raphael's eyes darted up to met his. Briefly. Her mouth opened and she seemed ready to say something. But then she dropped her gaze. "Was it Michael?" she asked, the accusation in her tone vile. "He did this?"

"Yes," Gabriel admitted. He let her pull his hands away from his stomach, holding back a wince as she lifted his leather under tunic, poking and prodding around the wound. There was no careful gentleness about her now, only brisk efficiency, only the driving necessity behind a duty that needed to be carried out.

"Deep," she grunted. "It is deep."

Uriel hovered awkwardly on the edge of their conversation, his face alive with unashamed worry. "It looks cruel," he said, staring at the gash in Gabriel's side. "Are you certain it was Michael? Would he ever do such a thing?"

Gabriel inhaled sharply, the weight of Uriel's words hitting him like a boulder. Michael, Michael, would he ever do such a thing?

_You gave Him what He asked for, I gave him what He needed. _

Yes, he would. Without hesitation.

Raphael sat back on her heels. "Do you admire his naivety?" she asked, glancing at Uriel. "Do you not wish we could all survive on such false hope? On such blind disbelief and disregard?"

Uriel flushed, his lips pursing in anger. "You are no better than them," he said with surprising heat. "Such petty cynicism I have never known."

"Enough." Raphael straightened, rising from her knees in one fluid motion. "I have had enough of this wretchedness for now. Give me your blade, Uriel. The small knife. Gabriel appears to have lost his and I must go about my work somehow. Hand it to me."

Uriel obliged, slipping his short knife from the sheath in his boot. Gabriel looked down at his own empty sheath in surprise. Had he lost his knife? Strange, he was usually so careful with his weapons.

And then he remembered. The young man. The mountaintop. _Why do you continue to fight when you know that all hope is lost? _Michael.

He had dropped his knife when his brother's blade sliced across his gut, the metal singing as it opened his flesh.

Gabriel grimaced at the memory, which was almost more painful than the deed itself. He put his hand to his wound once more, felt the jagged edges of it, felt the warm muscle contract.

His vision narrowed. Unconsciousness beckoned.

A sudden flare of light brought him back to the living world. He looked up and saw that Raphael had busied herself, making a small fire out of twigs and two pieces of scavenged stone. She held Uriel's knife up to the flame and let the orange tongue flicker across the length of it until it glowed promisingly. She approached Gabriel.

"You might have to steady him," she instructed Uriel.

The other angel stepped forward expectantly, but Gabriel raised his hand.

"I can keep myself still," he said, indignity causing his voice to thunder in his chest.

Raphael shrugged. "As you say." And before he had a chance to brace himself, before he could draw a calming breath or grip the shaft of his mace for support, she stuck the broadside of blade to his stomach and let his flesh sizzle.

Gabriel's word tilted and swam, the acrid, meaty scent of his singed skin bringing bile to his lips. Unknowingly, he reached out and touched her, curling his fingers over her forearm even as she tried to lift the blade from his wound.

"Raphael," he said.

She looked at him with wide eyes, but her mouth was set in her firm line. And for a moment, he saw her clear hesitation. Her confusion. And for a moment, he thought that she would reach for him, would grip his hand in hers and offer him the comfort that he was too proud to admit that he needed.

But Raphael was grieving. In mourning. She would not release her sorrow so readily. "Your shoulder," she said, brandishing the knife under his nose. "There is more blood."

Gabriel said nothing as she peeled off his pauldrons and pulled back his heavy cuirass. The wound was there, a neat puncture hole.

Raphael gave the knife to Uriel and told him to heat it over the fire again.

"This one," she said, "is close to the heart."

"Michael's heart," Gabriel wheezed, unable to keep his voice as the burn in his stomach set shockwaves of pain shooting through his limbs. "That was the deathblow."

Raphael drew back as if stung, her bloodied hands falling into her lap. In the light of the fire she was hazy, a blurred mirage of shapes and planes that faded before him. Gabriel felt his head going back, hitting the bole of the tree. The dark, the dark, he would welcome the dark…

But Raphael put a palm to his cheek, her fingers nestling behind his right ear as she pulled him forward. He felt her hand ghost through his hair and for a moment, he thought things were different, were as they should be…

And then she shook him. Hard. His jaw snapped with the force of it. She was not gentle. She was not gentle with him now.

"Michael," Raphael said. Her lips were close to his ear. She was bending over him, gazing with frank curiosity at his shoulder wound. "You said he lives yet."

"He does," Gabriel replied. Slowly, he was beginning to regain control of himself. The light of the fire scorched his eyes and he blinked, remembering where he was and why.

This terrible disaster, this horrible tragedy. Brother against brother.

And Raphael had warned him. She had warned them both.

"But you killed him?" Raphael questioned shrewdly. Her face was pressed close to his, her eyes narrowed as she checked his pupils. Her short, blunt nails scratched his brow.

"I did," Gabriel said huskily. "And yet he lives. Father has…forgiven him."

"The Prodigal Son," Uriel murmured. He was nearby.

Gabriel forced his head up, saw the approach of the white-hot blade. This time, he managed to brace himself.

But the pain was still there, still intense and merciless and vengeful as the metal hit his skin, as a blistered, blackened scab closed over the wound. He let out his breath in a hiss and counted the seconds until Raphael pulled the knife away. Smoke rose in a cloud of odor and billowed around his head, an unworthy halo. Again, unconsciousness called to him.

And then it was over. Raphael gave the still burning knife back to Uriel and inspected her work.

"It is done," she said, her voice no longer angry, but edged with a watery sorrow, something that spoke of tears and suppressed sobs.

And for an instant, Gabriel thought she had come back to him. He raised his hand to touch her, but she was on her feet, falling into the shadows, into the dark. The welcoming dark.

"Watch him," she told Uriel.

"I do not think you should go."

Raphael did not answer, but Gabriel heard her footsteps fading into the night, heard the rustling of dried leaves and the dry-wood snap of skeletal tree branches. And then there was a whimper. Soft, faint. And then there was silence.

Uriel settled himself near Gabriel, sitting cross-legged with his back to the fire, the glow of it surrounding him in a pale mimicry of holy light.

"Does she weep?" Gabriel asked him. He looked into the darkness where Raphael had disappeared but could see nothing.

Uriel lowered his eyes and stared at the pebbly sand. "No," he said quietly. "Not her."

* * *

><p>Gabriel rested, rested as best he could with the fiery torment blazing in his gut and shoulder and the knowledge that Raphael was wild with anger and that Michael had somehow won the Father's favor. Somehow, somehow….<p>

He was nauseous and bruised and broken. And he felt very much like weeping, but he knew the danger of tears, knew how empty and useless they were. Instead, he gripped one hand around the shaft of his mace and clenched the other over his thigh. The pain rose against him and did not ebb. He battled it, forced it down, down, down, forced it down and away. The heat from the fire smothered him as it breathed smoke and ash into the air.

And as he sat there in the wasteland and watched the copper-colored cinders dance every time the wind blew, he thought he might have fallen. Might have been damned. Damned for all time.

But Uriel remained by his side, eternally passive. Gentle. Understanding. In his own way, he exuded the softer qualities of the other angels, reflecting what they were at their best. At this time, Gabriel recognized Michael's composure, Raphael's nurturing and his own loyalty in Uriel. All this was tempered by an inherent tenderness and a brightness of the eyes that still shone despite the depths of darkness around them. Uriel was pious. Uriel was kind-hearted. Uriel was hopeful. The Father had made him that way.

Now the slim angel sat hunched in unusual worry, picking up the tiny rocks that littered the sandy soil and rolling them in his palms. He tried to smile at his wounded comrade. He tried to be kind, if only because Raphael was cruel.

And although he was grateful for Uriel's comforting company, Gabriel felt a certain longing descend upon him. He knew Raphael was nearby. He could feel her. But she would not come. She would not be with him.

This, he realized, was his punishment.

"Has she left us?" Gabriel mumbled after a full hour had passed. He was slipping from the sharp point of agony into indifferent haziness. Into murkiness. He felt warm and weak and bloated.

Uriel tilted his head to the side, his skin showing burnished with the last of the firelight glancing off his cheeks. "No, she is there, tending to the little one."

"Little one?" Gabriel lifted his head off the bole of the tree. His tongue fumbled over the soft words. "Little one?"

Uriel suddenly looked uncertain. "We found it," he said, dragging his teeth along his lower lip. "I fear you will be displeased."

"With you?"

Uriel's teeth clamped down tighter on his lip. He flushed. "With her. Please, do not judge her harshly. She is…at odds with herself."

But Gabriel felt his patience slipping, his mood becoming perilous even in the light of Uriel's warm companionship. "What little one?" he prodded.

Uriel looked askance. "Raphael searched for you this night," he said, the rhythm of his words uneven, harried. "She searched for you and for Michael and I accompanied her because she asked it of me. We went to that place first, that place they call Paradise Falls-I hate even to say its blasphemous name!-and we found it ablaze. We did not linger. Raphael insisted we press on. We followed the road and came to the wreck. And there was blood in the air and Raphael found one of your feathers. She also found the little one…lying broken. It was alive. She took it in her arms and wrapped it in her cloak. Gabriel, I begged her to be merciful, but Raphael, she-"

"Hates to see little things suffer," Gabriel muttered. A dreadful sense of unease filled him. The wreck. The car wreck. It was a vague memory. He could recall his hands scraping over the broken glass of the back windshield, could remember the flare hitting him in the temple, and the child's body. The skinny stick of a girl from the diner. She had had her hands around his neck before the end, had clutched at him with surprising ferocity…and then had gone limp when they hit the blacktop.

Gabriel had disentangled himself from her crumpled body after the crash and left her on

the road. She hadn't seemed to be breathing when he took wing, when he left to search for the babe and his mother and the man with the frightened eyes. Yes. Yes. He was certain she hadn't been breathing.

"She brought the girl here?" he asked sharply.

Uriel could not withhold the truth. "Yes."

"I must see this," Gabriel said. He dragged his legs underneath him and pushed upward, throwing his weight against the trunk of the tree until the branches shook in protest. He was unsteady on his feet. Wavering.

Uriel reached out a hand and tried to help him. "You should rest."

"I must see."

Gabriel staggered and stumbled, falling away from Uriel and the oppressive heat of the fire. The terrain was uneven and he reeled, coming to the edge of their make-shift campsite where Raphael stood in the dark, perched above a bundle she had laid to rest in a shallow ditch.

_A babe in a manger, _Gabriel thought as he beheld the scene.

It was as he had expected. He looked down at the human-her name was Audrey, wasn't it?-wrapped up in the shimmering folds of an angelic cloak. Her skin was pale against the black cloth, showing bright red in the places where she bled, blue in the places where she was bruised. She shivered as she lay there, under the sheltering shadow of another stunted tree. The wind rose and rattled the dry branches. They sounded like bones.

"What have you done?" Gabriel asked Raphael.

"It is badly wounded," she commented and for the first time, her voice was soft and her shoulders drooped. The tips of her sharp wings had etched thin trails into the soil. "It called me _Mommy_."

A sigh rose within Gabriel. "Have you no sense of judgment? Have you lost yourself? Uriel says you would not heed his counsel, that you would not be merciful and snap the human's neck even though-"

"No one has ever mistaken me for a mother before," Raphael replied.

Her words shattered him. He leaned his good shoulder against the curved limb of the tree, his legs going weak at the knees. After all these years, after all this time, he had never seen her like this.

And he was terrified.

Gabriel exhaled sharply, feeling the new burn on his stomach pull as he did so. His body ached and the places where Raphael's fingers had touched him roughly still stung. She had not been gentle with him. She had not been kind.

"Even Michael would not approve of this," he said, hating to use his brother's name, but driven by a necessity that was greater than his own damaged ego. "She is a ruin," Gabriel continued, gesturing at Audrey who almost seemed to be having a fit, the muscles in her face bunching and twitching. "You cannot heal her, Raphael. It is folly to try."

But that had been a mistake. An unfortunate one. Raphael was immediately indignant. "I _can_ try," she said. "There is some strength left in it yet. Some vigor."

"_Her_, Raphael," Gabriel corrected. He paused, then added. "Her name is Audrey."

He felt Raphael's gaze settle on him, felt the strength of her surprise, and yes, blatant curiosity. "You know _her?_"

"I tried to kill her," Gabriel admitted. He was shocked to find that he was troubled, but then again, he was troubled by nearly everything now. This new sense of awareness, of noticeable doubt and regret, made him realize just how weak he was.

And Raphael, yes, she must also recognize his weakness. When she looked at him, he thought he saw it mirrored in her glassy eyes. Bright and fervent scorn. Reproachful censure.

"This is your work, then," she accused. "You left her in a pitiful state."

"I have no room for pity."

"No, not even for me."

Gabriel nearly winced. His heart took the full blow of her remark, the barb settling in his breast, leaking its venom into his bloodstream. He turned away so that she would not see his upset. In the back of his mind, in the darkest recess of being, he wondered if she would go to war with him too. But unlike Michael, he doubted that she would show him mercy.

"We have more immediate concerns," he said in a attempt to restore her reason. He pressed his hand to his stomach. The pain was growing, becoming unbearable. This pain, this pain, this pain that she had caused….

That _he_ had caused.

"Your concerns are not mine." Raphael muttered.

"You should not say that."

"Ah, you sound like Uriel now." Her face folded into a miserable smile. "Although I must say, you have all seized the opportunity to admonish me. First Michael, when I would not support him in his disobedience and now you, my own-"

"Please." Gabriel tried to stop her. Tried to do anything that might dissuade her from what she was about do. Perhaps he had known it was coming all along. Perhaps he had known it would happen the moment he had refused to listen to her.

Stepping forward out of the light of the fire, Raphael knelt by Audrey and gathered the child in her arms. Audrey groaned, her lips parting, a trail of blood running down her cheek where it mingled with her tiny tears.

"Raphael, please." Gabriel reached for her, tried to touch her shoulder, but she pulled away from him, rising with the girl still clutched in her arms. "I understand. You have made your point now."

She ignored him. "I will try."

"You will fail."

"As you did?" Raphael countered.

Gabriel froze, the fire in his stomach turning to ice with such rapidity that his vision tunneled and the glow of the flames became far-off, a glimmer sighted in the distance. She could not know. She could not have guessed….

_I would not have shown you such mercy._

_That is why you failed Him._

"Do not do this," Gabriel said. He was leaning against the tree heavily, the flesh of his palms pressed against the rough and unforgiving bark. Forgiving, if only she would be forgiving.

But perhaps he deserved this. Perhaps it was a worthy punishment.

Or perhaps this was all madness and Raphael was lost to him.

"Don't," he said one last time, although his voice was alive with a warning, a threat. And Raphael took it as such.

Gabriel heard her wings shudder, saw her feathers fan out as she straightened her shoulders. She was leaving. She was going away.

"You are too weak to follow," Raphael said, throwing her cruel words over her shoulder at him. Cruel. Cruel. Raphael had never been cruel.

She did not even bid him farewell, but darted into the black with one great thrust of her wings, spiraling into the night sky with the girl Audrey still in her arms and her head lifted high, defiant to the very last.

Gabriel watched until she was nothing more than an unrecognizable speck against the starry canvas of the heavens. And then he watched for a while longer, until his knees gave way and gentle Uriel had to come and help him back to his resting place by the solemn Joshua Tree. They sat by the fire, the both of them, while the flames gnawed at the kindling and cast long, daunting shadows over the bare flatlands.

"She is wretched," his companion muttered after a while. He paused, then added. "She told me that she hated you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I know that in most cases, Michael, Gabriel, Raphael and Uriel are all depicted as siblings, however, for the purposes of this fic, only Michael and Gabriel are considered brothers.

Thanks so much for reading! If you have some free time, please leave a review. Feedback always makes me insanely happy. ^_^ The next chapter has already been written and should be posted in a week.


	3. Chapter Three Submerged

**Author's Note: **Welcome to chapter three of "Rebirth". As always, I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to read the last chapter and those that reviewed, **saichick, Faith-Catherine, savyleec **and **burningblossom. **Also, I'd like to thank everyone who added this story to their favorites/author alerts list. Thank you so much, guys! I am entirely grateful for your kind feedback and support. I do hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Three Submerged**

It was painful waking up, like breaking through the surface of a lake after being underwater for so long, after seeing the bubbles rise over your head and thinking you might drown. Because she should have drowned. She should have gone under and never come up again. Food for the fishes. Meat for the sharks.

The first time she was conscious of air filling her body was agonizing. Audrey coughed as her lungs expanded against her bruised ribcage. She sucked oxygen in through her mouth and spat and gagged. It was a shock, waking up like this. A shock to feel her body, her very life, suddenly restored when there had been nothing but peaceful oblivion. No dreams. No nightmares. No filmy memories of half-sleep and lingering wakefulness. She'd been drifting. Just drifting. Drifting away in the black, black water. _Drowning. _

Audrey opened her eyes.

There was a spike through her brain, this she was almost certain of. It sent waves of pulsing pain down through her neck and shoulders and into her chest. Her arms were on fire. Her skin felt like it had been rubbed off by sandpaper.

_Help! _she thought, trying to force the word to her lips. _Help! Help! Help!_

No sound came. Nothing happened.

Audrey coughed and the slight motion racked her aching body, sent electric jolts shooting along her ribs and into her throbbing veins. She needed to breathe. She needed to calm down. She needed to lie still.

The pain, the pain. She needed the pain to go away….

Panic blotted out what remained of her senses and she became a child again, an infant, a being that reacted only to the immediate. And now there was pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Inescapable. Overwhelming. Like the flames of Hell, the one's her fifth grade religion teacher had told her about. They burned but didn't consume. There was only suffering and nothing more. It's what happened to sinners…sinners like her.

And there would be no salvation then. No coming back. It was the end of the line.

The end of the world…

Stop, stop, she needed to stop.

Minutes passed. Or maybe they were really hours? Audrey concentrated on inhaling and exhaling, just like her yoga instructor had told her. _In and out. Slowly. Nothing matters except the breathe. Just notice your breathing. Just notice it. _

But it was hard to pay attention to her breathing now. Audrey blinked her eyes, willing the haziness to clear. She had to get a sense of where she was, she needed to see….

_Lying down_, she thought. _I'm lying down somewhere. _

She tried to move her hands, felt the softness beneath her. Light blankets. A sheet. A pillow that smelled of honey-melon shampoo. Her shampoo. The kind she bought every time she went to the salon, which, according to her dad, was too often. Was she home? Was she in her own bed?

Maybe.

But even as she laid there, hoping, Audrey knew there was something wrong with her logic. Something had happened, hadn't it? Something terrible. Something that should have killed her.

Killed them all.

_Get off of her!_

Wings. Black wings with razor tips. He had tried to climb in through the back windshield. There was a baby. Crying. God, she hated to hear babies cry. And Jeep and Charlie. And her hands around his neck.

_Gabriel…._

Audrey gasped. She'd lost track of her breathing. The flood of memories overwhelmed her, settling in her mind like jagged glass, tearing and ripping. Her heart thudded against her breast. For the first time in her life, she felt like a scared rabbit, some tiny animal trapped in its den while the big bad wolf prowled outside.

_God, oh God_, she prayed, but then stopped herself. It was God who had done this to her, right? He probably wouldn't care if she prayed, if she begged for help or relief.

She was alone now. Truly and utterly alone. And there could be no comfort in this sort of solitude. It wasn't like cutting sixth period English to go out to the football field and have a smoke. It wasn't like the night when she left her house because her parents were arguing again and walked down to the golf course a few blocks away to sit in the mowed grass and stare at the white-silver sand traps. It wasn't like being alone and at peace with herself, because she knew Mom and Dad would still be around to nag and yell and scream at her when she got home. This isolation was different. Profound. It was the loneliness of being the last person alive out of her entire family and being conscious of it. The guilt of the survivor. The sorrow-laced fear. And it made her want to scream, because there really was no escape from this.

No way out….

No. Stop. She had to stop this. She had to calm down and take stock. Be reasonable. Figure things out. She had a critical mind. Hadn't her maiden aunt told her that once? She could think things through. She could solve this problem. It wasn't that hard. Nothing ever was.

_All right. All right_. _Breathe. _

Slowly, Audrey straightened her fingers and touched the bed beneath her. That was a good sign. She was in a house. The ceiling overhead was a mild off-white that bordered on beige. Like the color of the eggs her Mom bought from the new organic market that had opened up last year, the kind that came in a paper carton made from 100% recycled materials, or so the label said. And Mom always insisted on buying the eggs, even though they were way more expensive and Audrey thought they tasted like shit. Because Mom had always been stubborn like that, because she never listened…

_It's just one baby. Just one baby._

Pain. Audrey braced herself as another tidal wave washed over her. It flooded her mind until she was numb, until she couldn't think and when it cleared, she found that she almost didn't care anymore.

Couldn't care.

Audrey shut her eyes and then opened them. She needed to concentrate. Be a critical thinker, right Aunt Marie? A streak of light stretched over the walls. That meant there was a lamp somewhere. And a lamp meant electricity. Wherever she was, there was still power.

Audrey groaned, turning her head to the side. She didn't see a lamp, but instead, noticed a small, box of a window with flimsy blue curtains. It was daytime. Weak, watery sunlight edged its way underneath the curtains and into the room.

She sighed. Good, she was making progress.

Looking down, she tried to make out what she was wearing. Certainly not her black-mini skirt and tank top. This clothing was baggy, loose. She glanced at her chest and almost laughed.

It was Mickey Mouse, staring up at her with his over-sized hand raised in an exaggerated thumbs-up sign.

God, she was wearing a t-shirt with Mickey Mouse on it. That was a change.

Audrey rolled her head to the right, letting herself smile because life was so absurd and there was nothing to do but smile about it. And smiling was the best thing to do really, because if she didn't smile, then maybe she'd…

That's when she saw him, the angel, huddled like a huge roosting bird in a wicker-backed chair.

An angel. A real live angel. With wings.

Audrey stared at the angel perched in the corner. Her vision blurred and all she could see was the angular face, the sharp defined features and the tired eyes. Michael. It must be Michael. It _had_ to be Michael. The one who had come to the diner at Paradise Falls. The one who had pulled her from the burning van. The one who had shot her mom.

And despite it all, true relief surged within her. She felt all her muscles relax against the soft mattress, the knots unwinding, her stomach unclenching. She was safe. Michael had protected her before and he would protect her again. She was safe.

"Hey," she said, surprised when she found her voice and even more surprised at how lousy she sounded. Like a croaking frog or that duck that did commercials for health insurance. "Michael, is that you?" But even as she said his name, she knew she was mistaken.

The angel shifted tensely, planting one foot on the floor, bracing a hand on the arm of the chair. There were no tattoos on his fingertips and his body was much smaller, much softer than Michael's lithe, yet solid frame.

Audrey squinted, taking in the angel's figure. "Who-" she began, then trailed off.

This angel wasn't Michael. No, it couldn't be. This angel wasn't even Gabriel.

The creature stood, unfolding itself from the tight chair. "Little one," it said in a fluting voice…a feminine voice.

Audrey's eyes widened and she realized, all at once, that this angel had breasts and round hips and long hair. This angel was female.

Terror filled her body, pulling her muscles tight once more. Audrey winced as her arms stiffened. She gripped the sheets. "Who the _hell_ are you?" she demanded.

The female angel hovered awkwardly by the edge of the bed, stepping into the thin light that managed to filter through the curtained windows. Dust motes danced in the air, giving her a faded look, something like an old sepia photograph she might see in an antiques shop. The angel glanced down at her.

_She does look a little bit like Michael_, Audrey reasoned through her fear. _Same facial structure. Same color eyes. _

But Michael had never appeared quite so nervous, not even when Gabriel had come bursting through the door at Paradise Falls. Not even when that trumpet had sounded from on high, promising a reckoning the likes of which the earth had never seen.

Audrey shuddered, remembering that night. Remembering her mom bathed in the glow of holy light, falling back, falling back with a bullet in her head.

Something wet trailed down her cheeks.

The female angel appeared bewildered, her brows bunching together. "Are you sad, little one?" she asked.

Audrey batted her eyes, realizing that she was crying. _Damn. _She never cried. Not even when her parents told her they'd be moving to Scottsdale and she'd have to finish her senior year in a completely different school. _Damn._

Furiously, she wiped at her tears, noticing how dry her fingers felt against her cheeks. Her body was as brittle as a tumbleweed and her mouth tasted like hot sand.

"Water," she begged, abandoning her fear in favor of her pressing need, her overwhelming thirst. She'd never experienced thirst like this before, a thirst that caused her lips to crack and her tongue to swell. She suddenly recalled another thing her old religion teacher used to say about a guy thirsting for water in Hell. And no one from Heaven would even give him a few drops of water. No one would even have pity.

Her sense of urgency grew. "Please, can I have some water?"

The angel still looked bewildered, but she left the room, letting the door swing open behind her as she went. Audrey craned her neck as best she could and caught a glimpse of a living room. The floors were hardwood. There was a thick, fringed area rug sitting underneath a wooden chest that seemed to double as a coffee table. The space looked small, but air and there was more light coming in from somewhere, which meant more windows.

Audrey exhaled. The place seemed quaint, but at least it wasn't claustrophobic.

She heard the sound of a squeaky tap being turned and the subsequent gush of water. The angel returned. She had a glass of water with her.

"Drink slowly," she said, holding the cup to Audrey's lips.

And although she was in pain, although every sinew and muscle and bone in her body twisted in agony, Audrey felt embarrassed having the angel help her. She was, or at least, she _had_ been fiercely independent, something her mother never could be.

And never would be….

Audrey winced. _Mom_, she thought. But then the angel shoved the cup against her lips and she drank, the water hitting her raw throat and making her eyes burn. Her breath fogged the rim of the glass, leaving a faint imprint.

She sipped for a minute until the angel removed the half-empty glass and placed it on a nearby nightstand also made of the a light-wood wicker. A breeze moved in the room, whispering through the curtains, and Audrey noticed that the window was open. A chill danced along her bare arms. The air smelled like pine needles.

_Definitely not the Mojave_, she thought. She glanced at the window but couldn't make out anything beyond the sea-blue curtains.

"Where am I?" she asked, hating to cede yet another morsel of her independence.

The angel had moved closer to the chair, but did not sit, only stood with her wings folded close to her shoulders.

"A cabin in the woods," she said. "We have been here for some time, but I have not kept count of the days. It is very beautiful, though. There is a lake outside. And mountains. I took you from the desert. It was too empty there. I did not care for it much and I thought you might feel the same way."

"Yeah," Audrey coughed dryly, her head spinning. She was trying to think, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, but her mind wasn't cooperating. Her head felt heavy against the pillow. Like a useless brick. _So much for critical thinking. _

"How'd you find me?" she questioned.

The angel lowered her head, her chin hitting the top of her thick collar. "I was looking for someone else. I found you instead."

Audrey swallowed, working some more moisture down the back of her parched throat. The angel was wearing armor that looked similar to Gabriel's. Black pants. That weird leather skirt and heavy belt. She didn't have the breastplate on, though. Nor the spiked armbands.

"Who?" Audrey asked, then seeing the angel's obliviousness, added, "I mean, who were you looking for?"

"Michael and Gabriel. I found them both…eventually."

Audrey's surprise nearly propelled her out of bed. Michael! Of course. And Gabriel. Her stomach worked itself back into a knot. Gabriel….

Fear welled up within her. Perhaps she had been wrong to feel safe here, even for only a moment. Perhaps she was in greater danger than she could ever imagine.

"You know Michael and Gabriel?" she managed, somehow keeping her voice steady.

"Yes."

"Are they here too?"

"No, we are alone."

Audrey let the information settle in her brain for her moment, mulled it over until she realized that she was missing another important piece of the puzzle. "Jeep and Charlie!" she cried out and to her surprise, the angel actually jumped.

"I do not-"

"Jeep and Charlie and the baby," Audrey rambled. "What happened to them?"

The angel raised her eyebrows, her lips opening and closing, almost like a fish underwater. "The child?" she asked. "The child and his mother?"

"Yes, yes, them." God, this angel was thick. Not at all on the ball like Michael. _Was it so hard for her to put two and two together? _Audrey wondered.

"They live," the angel replied, her voice inflectionless. "Or I am told that they live."

"By who?" Audrey demanded. It seemed vitally important that she know just where they were, not that she could actually do anything about it, but still, but still…

"Gabriel. He told me."

"Then he didn't…" Audrey was unable to finish.

"No."

Relief. She was shocked by how strong it was, how worried she could feel about some waitress and a mechanic and a little baby that she hardly knew but felt like the world depended on. It was strange, she realized, how much she could care about someone like that, some people she probably wouldn't have given a rat's ass about on any other given day. But the apocalypse wasn't exactly any given day.

"Where'd they go?" she asked, almost wishing she could be with them in some backwoods shithole and not stretched out in a relatively comfortable bed in what seemed to be a nice house.

The angel looked down at her boots. "I do not know," she replied. "I was not told. Michael must know, though."

"Can you ask him for me?"

And for the first time, Audrey thought she something flash behind the angel's visage. It was quick and she barely caught it, but it was there. Definitely, definitely there.

"I cannot," the angel replied and said nothing more.

Audrey felt something close up her throat, something that might have been a sob and she repressed it. Confusion besieged her. There was very little she remembered of that last night in Paradise Falls. Her mom getting shot. The warm sensation she felt when she held Charlie's baby in her hands. Gabriel coming through the door. Gabriel attacking the squad car. She had put her arms around his neck….

_Jeep! Do it! Do it!_

Shattering glass. That horrible screaming screech of brakes and burning tires. Tar shredding soft skin. That had been the last thing, the very last thing she remembered.

And now she was here, somehow. In a place that smelled like Christmas trees and had a lake outside, and a female angel that kind of looked like Michael.

_Fuck. _

Audrey glanced down at her arms, past the floppy sleeves of the Mickey Mouse t-shirt and saw the patches of raw, red skin. Saw the map of bruises on her collarbone. It hurt to breathe, did that mean she had a broken rib? Or had she fractured something else? Were there stitches? Was she disfigured?

It didn't matter. All she knew was that she'd been hurt bad. Really, really bad. She should probably be in a hospital…if hospitals still existed after the apocalypse.

God, where to begin? Where to begin?

She heard the angel shifting, heard the sinister flutter of her fatal wings. Well, maybe that was a good place to start.

"Who are you?" Audrey demanded, pulling the blankets around her aching body.

The angel raised a brow, though the movement suggested a twitch, a nervous reaction to building tension. "I am," she hesitated, "a doctor."

"Bullshit," Audrey replied weakly.

The angel suddenly seemed indignant. Her sharp eyes-Michael's eyes-went narrow. "I healed you, did I not?"

"Yeah, well, I feel like I'm about to fucking fall apart, so nice job." That was a mistake, Audrey realized at once. A knee-jerk reaction meant to disguise fear. An error in judgment.

The angel's indignation turned into real offense. But instead of looking angry, she seemed sad. Wounded, as if Audrey had just told her that she thought she was ugly or that her fashion sense sucked.

_Crap_. Audrey tried to shift in bed, but the small motion jarred her already sore bones.

"Sorry," she replied through a pained hissed. "That was bitchy. I mean, I appreciate you saving my life and all. That was…that was really nice…considering you didn't have to. Right? You didn't have to?"

"Right," the angel replied. She still looked offended. Or wary, maybe. Her expression was all closed up. All locked and shuttered.

Audrey bit her lip, feeling the chapped dryness of her skin. She would have to tread carefully. Very, very carefully. As it was, her experiences with angels had been pretty sketchy up until then. Michael had pulled up to Paradise Falls with a trunk full of guns and promptly shot almost everything and everyone to pieces. He'd also risked his life to save her from that burning van. He'd also killed her mother. _Mom…_

And then there had been Gabriel. Audrey tried to suppress another shiver. Gabriel, who had tried to hurt Charlie's little baby. Gabriel, who had nearly crushed her when their bodies had flown through the windshield of the squad car. Gabriel, who was nothing but raw, aggressive power. Gabriel, who was terrifying. Yes, that was the word. Terrifying.

A lump rose in Audrey's throat. Her eyes were bleary. "Can I have some more water?" she asked.

The angel lifted the glass and put it to her lips. Audrey drank the rest of it, having never felt so babied in her whole life. Even her own mother had never…

_No. No._

Audrey choked on the last mouthful, sputtering. Her cheeks were wet. The angel took the glass away and laid a concerned hand on her shoulder.

"Do not be sad, little one," she said.

But Audrey cringed and cowered. She could only think of Gabriel, the angel who had the light of vengeance in his cold, icy eyes. The angel who had left her on the road to die. Left her bleeding and broken.

More tears. She curled back against the pillows. "Who the hell are you?" she asked.

The female angel seemed sad again. "I told you. I am a doctor."

"Please, enough of that shit."

The angel glanced at the empty glass in her hand. "I heal," she said slowly. "That is what doctors do, I believe."

"Give me a break," Audrey moaned miserably, turning her head so that she faced the window. She could see nothing beyond. Nothing at all.

The angel sighed. "I will get you some more water." Her boots shuffled on the hardwood floor.

"Do you at least have a name?" Audrey asked bluntly, hating the way her voice sounded through her tears. Like a moaning whimper. Like a weak little nothing.

The angel did not slow her step. "Raphael," she said.

Audrey laughed at that. "Raphael," she called, making sure the angel could hear her wherever she was in the house. "That's a guy's name!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>The Biblical story Audrey references in this chapter is known as The Parable of the rich man and Lazarus. It can be found in the Gospel of Luke 16: 19-31.

Thanks so very much for taking the time to read! If you have a free moment, please leave a review. I am always overjoyed whenever I receive feedback. The next chapter has already been written and should be posted next week. Until then, take care and be well!


	4. Chapter Four Fishing

**Author's Note: **Originally, this chapter was supposed to contain more interaction between Audrey and Raphael, along with an explanation regarding Raphael's role in the Book of Tobit and her gender, but, as usual the characters had other plans. Gabriel, I think, couldn't stand to stay out of the story for too long, and so, Raphael's discussion of her past adventures with humans will have to wait until chapters five and six. ;)

As always, I have to thank my wonderful readers and reviewers, **saichick**, **Faith-Catherine, VoodooChild3000, burning blossom, Maladicta **and **PrussiaRussiaGirl**. Also, I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to add this story to their favorites/author alerts lists. Thank you so much, guys! I do hope you enjoy this installment.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Four Fishing**

It was very quiet at the cabin by the lake and Raphael enjoyed the silence. Nestled on the lee side of a forested slope, the quaint house had all the trappings of a comfortable retreat. There was a large wooden porch and swing. There was a backyard with grey pebble pathways and rectangular flowerbeds that slumbered beneath a layer of dried winter leaves. And at the front of the house, by the narrow dirt drive that was still imprinted with old tire tracks, there was a dock. It was the first thing Raphael had seen when she had flown over the slope two weeks ago, looking for a suitable place to keep the wounded girl, a safe little haven away from the broken world.

From on high, the dock had looked like a mere splinter of wood jutting out into the round bowl of a lake. But even while she circled above in the frosty reaches of the December sky, Raphael knew she had found what she had been searching for. A place of safety. A place of quiet. A home.

And it was easy to call this place home. It awoke all the softness in the angel's heart, all the long-forgotten threads of her existence that she had lost over the years, when she had become more of a warrior and less of a healer.

Raphael had been gentle once. She had loved the world and all that it held. And now, that love was renewed, stirred to life with every subtle breeze that whispered across the lake and the pungent odor of pine needles and the silt-lined shore that cushioned her booted footfalls.

Home, yes, this place was so very like home. So very like home because she felt all that she was, all that she _truly_ was, begin to return to her.

The weight of her armor was lifted from her shoulders. She forgot what it was like to hold a sword in her hand. The world itself stilled and the music of it, the murmuring, lullaby sonatas of stars and moon, of rock and earth, graced her ears with the most exquisite harmonies.

But Raphael was a creature of balance. The healer who was also a warrior. And she knew both sorrow and joy. Joy for finding this place, sorrow because he was not there with her.

Sorrow because what she had held close to her heart had shattered. Gabriel and Michael.

Sorrow because she could blame only them. Only them…

And it was why she called this place home. Not for its silence. Not for its beauty, but for its solitude. She needed to be away from them, from _him_.

She wanted to be alone.

Standing on the edge of the dock now, tendrils of chilly dawn mist moving over the lake like forgotten phantoms, Raphael surveyed her morning's work. Two fish flopped by her feet, their silver scales resplendent in the rising light that colored the sky beyond the distant mountains a faint pink.

Raphael smiled, her wet hands dangling by her sides, her wings dampened from the spray of water. She enjoyed the practicality of the moment. Fishing, after all, was one of the most practical arts. It had a purpose and her purpose was perfectly clear. The little one, she realized, would need to eat.

Because she was awake. Finally awake. Raphael's smile widened. _Awake._

It had been some time since Raphael had gone amongst humans. Long, tedious centuries had passed since her journeys with Tobias in the desert and she could only remember humans for what they had been to her then. The children of Adam. The little ones.

And she hated to see little things suffer.

She had brought the girl, the one she had found abandoned on the lonely road, into the house many nights ago. At the time, it had seemed like an act of mercy, although Raphael had wondered if the child would survive the night or if she would die. It was a dim hope, but a hope nonetheless and Raphael's faith was rewarded. The little one still lived.

In days past, she would have considered the girl's survival a testament to her own care, to the diligent hours spent setting broken bones and stitching lacerations and picking shards of glass out of deep, bleeding gashes. It was a continuous labor of love, something that required patience and unflagging attention and soft hands, hands that could heal, that could catch the last droplets of life and save each and every passing breath.

But pride did not sit easily with Raphael and she rejected the dangerous temptation of hubris in favor of something more reassuring. Her patient's survival was, she decided, a clear example of human resilience. It was simple, really, and beautiful in a way.

Beautiful, as Michael always said. Men were beautiful.

And Raphael found that she could agree with him on that point, if on nothing else…

Bending at the waist, she snatched up one of the fish by its tail and held it aloft. Sunlight glittered through the rows and rows of evergreen trees around the lake and slowly, the fog began to lift.

"A fish's gallbladder," Raphael said, thinking of Tobias. She stooped to pick up the other fish, pausing only when she saw him.

He was waiting for her on the shore.

Raphael froze, her fingers loosening around the slick tail. The fish fell and it made a moist, dull sound when it hit the dock.

He was watching her. Even from afar, Raphael could see his eyes. They were a pale blue, the same color as the thin ice that frosted the small ponds and pools that could be found throughout the forest.

And he, she felt, was beautiful too.

"Hello, Raphael," Gabriel said. A stiff breeze blew the last shreds of fog over him and he looked as though he were standing amidst a bank of smoke, in the breathe of a dragon.

"Hello," Raphael replied, acknowledging, for the first time, what she had fought to ignore for so many, many days.

The realization of it now, the shock of the mind, the dreadful pulling back, back to the dark, back to the desert, back to a night of blood and betrayal, left her cold. But perhaps she had been lying to herself all along. She was a creature of balance. A humbled soul. But she was also selfish. In her heart of hearts, Raphael knew why she had come to this place and it had not been for the sake of the little one.

Reluctantly, she moved down the dock, halting only when she came to the edge, where there was still some precious space between them.

She did not want to touch him.

"You are," Raphael began, her throat suddenly clogged, suddenly cluttered with too much emotion and regret. He was looking at her and she flushed, feeling the heat of the summer on her cheeks even though it was the height of winter. "You are looking well," she finally managed. "Much better."

Gabriel raised a brow and there was a subtle shift in his expression. A discreet crumbling. A collapsing of some inner wall that left his features bare. Yet his skin was smooth, his eyes calm and he stood tall, bearing the weight of his armor with quiet dignity.

"I am afraid I cannot repay the compliment," he said easily. "You look terrible. There are knots in your hair and your eyes are bruised and you smell of fish."

"I-" Raphael tried.

Gabriel glanced at her hands. "Blood," he said, "there is blood under your nails."

Raphael fluttered her fingers, noticing the stains around her cuticles and in her nail beds. _From the fish_, she thought. _Or maybe from the human…_

She rubbed the fleshly pad of her right thumb against her palm. The skin felt sticky and slick. For some reason, she was embarrassed, having him watch her and see all that was distasteful, see her stains, both spiritual and physical. Raphael had never had cause to hide from him before, but now, she wished she could sink beneath the surface of the lake, let the ice water work its way into her body until she was cleansed of the memories. Those _hateful_ memories.

The road. The wrecked car. Uriel crying. Gabriel wounded. Michael missing. And betrayal, they had both betrayed her…

"Your wounds," she said abruptly, letting the steady rhythm of her voice carry away the gritty residue of her pain. Raphael noticed how straight Gabriel held his shoulders, how his stomach was pushed in and he did not seem pained by every breathe. "I trust they are healed?"

"Indeed," Gabriel's voice was crisp. Frigid, even. "But I was forced to return home for healing."

Raphael caught the insinuation, the implication that she had failed him. It angered her and she turned her back on him.

"I am glad you are well," she said. Down the dock, one of the fish flicked a fin, its gills opened wide. The air smelled of rain and water. "Why have you come here?"

It was an obvious question, one that she herself could answer, but she wanted to see him try.

Gabriel's boots shuffled, drumming over the wooden planks. He stepped onto the dock. "Do not play the part of the fool," he said. "It does not suit you."

Anger from him. That surprised her. Raphael squinted, greeting the dawn light with a frown. The music of the earth, the sweet-singing sonatas, were dissonant in her ears now. She began to miss the silence.

"You have had time," Raphael said, feeling Gabriel's presence behind her, his shadow falling over her back, leaving her chilled. "You have had time to think over all that I said to you and now, you are displeased with me."

"Rightfully so?" he said, offering her the benefit of a question instead of the condemnation of a cold-hearted statement.

"That remains to be seen." Raphael forced herself to face him, to stand toe-to-toe with him on the edge of the dock and look into his eyes. It was not without some measure of agony that she met his gaze. Avoidance had left her weak and her cruelty was now a stagnant thing. She could no longer wield it against him with such power.

But oh, she realized with a sudden leap of her heart, it had never been like this before between them. Never, ever.

"Why are you here?" she repeated, her lips softening even though she tried to keep them pursed.

Gabriel lowered his eyes. "I want you to come home with me."

Raphael sighed. She had expected that, but not his humility. That was new and it troubled her, tainted her mind with unpleasant fear and too much doubt. She swallowed, tasting the bitterness of it as it crept up in her throat. The pine trees rustled in another errant breeze and their scent wafted across the lake in undulating waves of woody incense.

"Not right now," she said, although her voice shook.

Gabriel looked impatient. He threw his weight from one foot to the other, raising his wings as he pulled his shoulders into a tense shrug. "I told you," he said. "It is over."

"I understand that-"

"Michael and I have settled our quarrel."

Her nostrils flared. The smell of pine was overwhelming. "I doubt that all is settled. You shouldn't attempt to be deceptive."

Gabriel set his jaw, his teeth clicking as he ground them together. "Not settled, then," he conceded, "but we have made our peace with each other."

"That is pleasing to me," she admitted, but her body was still strung with threads of unease, vines of worry that tangled around her limbs and smothered her soul. "But neither of you have made your peace with me."

It was a challenge and Gabriel responded to it, showing something of his pride that sat easily with him but poorly with Raphael.

"To answer your question," he replied harshly, "I have come here to put the matter to rest. If you come home, both Michael and myself will plead for forgiveness. We will fall at your feet, if you wish."

Hearing him speak, Raphael found she could not help herself. Her lips curled. "Histrionics," she said, "do not suit you either."

He exhaled sharply, half-turning to face the shore and the cabin. In the morning light, the grey shingles on the roof looked all the more weather-beaten and the porch needed to be painted. Raphael thought the color green would look best. She liked green.

"Is this," Gabriel said, his chest heaving beneath his ebony cuirass, "is this about the girl you have here?"

His words were plain, but Raphael could guess at his meaning, could pick apart the suggestion for what it was. She did not particularly like where he was going with this. It made her…nervous.

"Not entirely," she said, after weighing her own reply carefully. Raphael glanced at one of the windows on the far side of the house. The blue curtains were drawn, but she thought she could make out the silhouette of the bed. The girl would be resting peacefully, or so she hoped. "But I cannot leave her."

"Children," Gabriel said the with some hesitance, his tongue fumbling as he tried to form the phrase. "Is this about children?"

Raphael stiffened, her hands clutching at the stiff fabric of her under tunic. What was that word humans used to describe incredible accuracy?

_Bull's-eye._

"We have already discussed this," Gabriel said, his voice suddenly breathy. He seemed winded as he paused to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Raphael, we-"

"I never said it was about children," she replied, satisfying herself with only a half-truth, which was, in reality, a complete lie.

Gabriel knew it, of course. He looked at her skeptically. "Then explain it to me."

"I think you should go now."

"Not yet."

The wind rose and tiny waves slapped the bottom of the dock with a thunk, thunk, thunk sound. To Raphael, the noise was hollow. A dull pounding that thudded in her ears like a second heart beat. She longed for the silence.

"Gabriel," she said, her pulse rising, throbbing against her iron collar, "you are not welcome here."

He stared at her, something of disbelief coloring his gaze. But then the shock was gone, only to be replaced with very real hurt. Raphael recognized his expression. She had seen it before, in the desert, in the night. Her palms tingled and she remembered the touch of the cold steel blade in her hand when she'd turned it over the fire, turned it over the flame until it glowed red.

"Why are you doing this?" Gabriel asked, his features strained. "Why are you-"

But Raphael interrupted him. "In your life, you have made two vows to me, Gabriel," she said.

"I kept one."

"You broke the other."

"And you would hold me accountable?" His wings were stirring, buffeting the air until the wind created ripples that wandered over the surface of the lake.

Raphael noticed his agitation, which had been subdued but now rose to a fever pitch. "Of course," she told him, unwilling to be bowed by his annoyance. "Of course I hold you accountable, you and Michael both.

"You would have me disobey the Father?" he asked plainly.

But Raphael was familiar with the argument. He had used it often as of late and it was an easy justification for him. Gabriel, she knew, was prone to seeing things in black and white. He was decisive and he was cunning and he knew his heart well.

Better, perhaps, than she thought she knew it.

That was a tragedy in and of itself, Raphael realized. How could they have come so far and yet ended up there, standing apart from each other on the edge of a dock? And she had blood on her fingernails and he was judging her and the matter was not settled. It would never be settled.

"I only asked," she said, working her fingers into fists to hide the stains that she was unreasonably ashamed of, "I only asked that you would never quarrel with Michael."

Gabriel swung around, moving away from her. His shoulders were hunched and the line of his body was rigid. Unbending. Stubborn.. "It was not my choice," he grumbled "Raphael, you make it seem as though-"

"I told you," she said, overriding him with her light voice even though his rage was potent, "I told you that it would destroy me if you fought with Michael and it has."

The corded muscles in Gabriel's neck bulged, his chin thrust out in a suggestion of defiance. "Deception," he threw back at her. "_You_ should not attempt to be deceptive."

Raphael reeled back, choking on a protest. She felt as though the air had been knocked out of her, but her breathe came hard and she doubled over, feeling some precise pain strike at her heart. And the world had lost its charm, had become empty as his words resonated in her mind, over and over and over again. They had nothing common now, she thought, except their cruelty.

"You call me a liar," Raphael said, happy to accuse him, to sink her nails into his rough, meaty flesh and tear open all his healing wounds. Because they were both bleeding and she was furious.

And frightened. Yes, maybe she was frightened.

Gabriel rounded on her, his sudden movement causing the dock to groan. It dipped, sagging into the lake as water swamped the planks.

"Be truthful," he challenged, halting his advance until he was only a short foot from her. "If I should go inside that house now and snap the girl's neck-"

"NO!" The cry tore from her throat.

"You would still say that I am to blame and that Michael is to blame and that your behavior is our fault alone."

"No," Raphael replied again, although she wasn't certain what she was saying. She looked nervously at the dirt drive that led up to the house, spying the square bedroom window. She wondered, vaguely, if she could be faster than Gabriel. She was nimble, but he was stronger and she feared that he would overtake her, feared that he would hurt her, as he had hurt Michael.

"Violence," she said, lifting her head just enough so that he could see her pale lips tremble. "Will you use violence against me?"

Gabriel moaned, his wings falling limp against his shoulders, his whole body seeming to droop and drop although he remained on his feet.

Turning his head to the side, he looked at her and there was admonition in his glance.

"You are not a mother, Raphael," he said.

Her throat tightened and her gorge rose and she had to take a step back from him, had to move away. It was a devastating blow. Gabriel's words wormed their way into her soul, gnawed at her already tender sensibilities until her emotions were raw and she didn't trust herself to speak.

She was not a mother. Yes, that was true. Raphael could acknowledge the fact with some detachment, with some practiced indifference. But when she thought of the girl, the little one lying broken on that bed in the cramped room, instinct overwhelmed her.

And Gabriel knew it. He knew it because of all that stood between them. The long stretch of the ages. The memory of the vows they had made, which even now still sweetened his lips.

Gabriel knew her. He knew her heart.

"Raphael," he said her name, speaking softly, gently. "I will say it again and again if I must. I am sorry. Michael is sorry." He raised his hand, reaching to touch her cheek with a thick, calloused finger. "Come home with me," he begged. "Come home…_to me_."

It would have been easy for her to lean into his touch. To give herself up and surrender the last of her rage. To forgive. To let things be as they were…as she had hoped they always would be.

But then she thought of the little one. Then she thought of the desert and the twisted wreck of a car and Michael missing and Gabriel bleeding.

It hurt. It hurt her terribly.

She turned away. "No."

And although Raphael wasn't looking at him, it was enough to hear his disappointment in the way his breathing slowed and the way his armor creaked as he shifted his weight.

"I think you should go now," Raphael repeated. She missed the silence and she wanted so very much to be alone.

He did not try to fight her this time and his resignation itself was almost shameful. Raphael glanced over her shoulder when she heard him spread his wings and begin to beat away the fog as he rose into the air.

Gabriel ascended into the pastel light of the dawn, but instead of taking off for the distant mountain peaks, he circled, diving low so that Raphael had to duck as he swooped towards her.

"You will have to tell her soon," he said, calling down to her as the wind lifted him higher. "You will have to tell the girl what has happened to her."

Raphael didn't respond, but let the knowing sink into her consciousness. It was like a stone swimming in her gut, a heavy, immovable weight.

"What happened to her," she said, although he was already gone, lost to the clouds and the blessed realm of celestial brilliance. "What _you_ did to her."

_And me._

A few feet away, the fish had stopped flopping on the dock and lay dead, their mouths open in grotesque grimaces, eyes like unseeing marbles of milky opal.

Raphael stared at them, willing herself not to feel lonely.

There was another phrase, she knew, that humans used to describe some of the most dreadful situations possible. It took a while for her to remember, but then it finally came to her.

"Rock bottom," she muttered, walking down the dock to seize the fish. "Rock bottom."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>As you might have noticed, Raphael and Gabriel's relationship is, hmm, not so straightforward. And although the exact nature of their connection will not be revealed until chapter twelve, I will be dropping some major hints along the way, so feel free to guess. I'm usually not half as cryptic as I think I am, haha.

In the next chapter, Audrey learns a little more about the strange, quiet angel that saved her. Raphael delivers some bad news.

Thanks so much for taking the time to read! If you have a moment, please leave a review. I thrive on feedback. Chapter five has already been written and should be posted in a little over a week. Until then, take care and be well!


	5. Chapter Five The Trouble with Rosemary

**Author's Note: **Hello again and welcome to chapter five of "Rebirth". As usual, I'd like to start off by thanking everyone who took the time to read the last chapter and those that reviewed, **PrussiaRussiaGirl, saichick, burningblossom **and** Cordite Quill**. In addition, I'd like to thank everyone who has added this story to their favorites/author alerts lists. You have no idea how greatly I appreciate your thoughtful support. Thanks a million, guys! I do hope you enjoy this installment.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Five The Trouble with Rosemary**

Time eluded Audrey. She was aware of it only vaguely, mindful of the slow, hazy minutes she spent awake and the deepening hours she remained locked in sleep. Night and day no longer seemed to exist, but blended into an uneasy dusk. Sleep and unconsciousness were one and the same. She would stir from fitful dreams into a glaring reality of pain and then lose herself once more as soon as the dark closed over her, closed over her eyes like black water.

It was a lot like drowning, her existence. A lot like being pulled underwater.

Audrey's only constant in her otherwise fluid world was the angel. When she did rouse herself from oblivion, she would see the creature perched dutifully by her bedside, sitting in that same wicker-backed chair all curled up like a nesting hen. Audrey would look at her, mumble a few words, ask for a drink or another blanket. And sometimes, when she didn't know where she was, she would call for her mother.

The angel would give her a drink. She would fetch another thick blanket of felted wool. And she would tell her, in a soft voice, that her mother was dead.

Their interaction was limited, caught up in the seemingly endless cycle of fleeting moments of wakefulness and long stretches of sleep. But somehow, even when Audrey dozed, even when she existed in the blurred world between understanding and fevered imagination, she would feel the angel's presence, something that was little more than a shadow. A whisper. A faint, light touch.

It had been the same with Michael back at Paradise Falls. Audrey had never really known just where he was in the diner, but his presence was continuous, a sensation she couldn't really identify but had come to feel in her soul…or what she believed to be her soul.

It wasn't until the angel left that Audrey realized just how fulfilling that presence was, how steadying, how spiritually reassuring. She had been sleeping for some time, for at least half a day, when she awoke and noticed that the angel was missing. The chair next to the bed was empty. The window, which was usually left open to relieve the room of its stuffiness, had been shut. The curtains were drawn.

Audrey blinked, giving her mind a moment to catch up with her senses. She had a crick in her neck and as she turned her head to the door, the ache moved up along her jaw line. Audrey groaned. Was this going to be her life now? An incessant battle with agony?

Although she knew she had been hurt very badly, there was a small part of Audrey that didn't want to know just how extensive the damage was. So far, she had resisted the temptation to lift up the smothering blankets and her t-shirt to examine her wounds. She was squeamish and the mere notion of seeing swollen limbs and stitches and maybe even broken bones daunted what remained of her courage.

And it might be terrible, if she took a quick look and saw what had become of her. It might be horrible…unimaginable….

Her eyelids fluttered, her lashes becoming wet with tears. Crying, God, she was crying again. At least the angel wasn't there to see her, although now that she thought about, where had the angel gone? A pang of real worry hit her in the stomach. Had she been abandoned? Or was the angel simply just outside the door, getting her more water?

Audrey knew she had no way of telling. Even if she could drag herself out of bed and onto the floor, the door was a long crawl away and she didn't think her body could take that kind of punishment. She was stranded. Adrift in a sea of quilts and wool blankets and pillows that were almost too soft.

Frustration bloomed within her, giving her a much needed boost of strength. Carefully, Audrey raised her hands as much as she could, about half a foot off the bed and let them smack against her blanket.

"Raphael!" she called, her voice raspy. Raphael? That was her name, wasn't it? Or had Audrey dreamed it? Whatever. Calling out _Raphael_ was better than crying for help. And even though she was completely immobile, trapped in her downy prison, Audrey hated the idea of asking for help. It was the last straw, really. The open affirmation of her weakness, which was already too obvious for her liking.

"Raphael!" she shouted again. Hmm, for some reason, the name was familiar to her. She had heard it before, maybe, had heard it mentioned in connection with an angel. Raphael. Raphael. It was familiar, but at the same time, foreign.

Raphael, wasn't that a guy's name?

But it didn't matter. Audrey couldn't care less about what the angel called herself, as long as she showed up eventually, as long as she had left her alone…

"Raphael!" Audrey called for a third time. This time her voice sounded a little more like her own, easy and off-hand, but with an impatient edge. "Raphael!"

The door opened in response and there stood Raphael, a wooden serving tray in her hands.

"You are awake," the angel stated. "I am pleased. I did not wish the soup to become chilled."

Audrey stared at her, feeling dazed, slightly overwhelmed by the angel's sudden return. "Is that really your name?" she asked vaguely. "I feel like I remember it from somewhere."

"Oh," Raphael said simply. She set the tray on the bedside table, carefully maneuvering it so that it shared the small space with a half-empty glass of water.

A myriad of scents assaulted Audrey's nose. Most of them were herbal, subtle and earthy, although she thought detected another odor, something that was slightly metallic and sharp. That smell wasn't so pleasant.

Audrey sniffed, her nose wrinkling. Food. That was a foreign concept. She couldn't even begin to remember when her last meal was. Back at the diner, maybe? She'd ordered some breakfast there when her parents BMW had overheated and they'd been stranded at the hole in the wall truck stop. And although she didn't recall exactly what she had eaten that morning, she knew that it hadn't been exactly to her liking. Too much butter. Too much grease. Way too fattening.

But didn't all that seem so silly now, worrying about her daily calorie count when the world itself was about to end?

Well, to be honest, the apocalypse made everything seem silly. Her frustration at moving to a new home in Scottsdale. Her fights with her parents. Her petty rebellion and teenage angst and fuck-you attitude, that, according to her mother, wouldn't get her very far.

_Sorry Mom,_ she thought bitterly, the back of her throat tightening as she swallowed another miserable sob, _but I really don't think I'm going to make it to college in the fall._

So much for plans. So much for the future. So much for life.

It was all so fucking ironic, like one big, bad joke, like a stupid game where no one was the winner….

Audrey's pity party was abruptly caught short when Raphael unfurled a green checkered napkin and tucked it in the neck of her t-shirt.

"Wait, what are you doing?" she sputtered, reaching up to pull the bib away. This was ridiculously humiliating, she realized. Like being a baby again. Unable to take care of herself. Unable to even wipe her own ass if she really needed to. _Ugh._

Raphael's expression didn't change, her sharp visage reflecting careful intent. She picked up a silver spoon that had been sitting on the tray and dipped it into the bowl. "I must feed you," she said.

"Yeah, well, not like this," Audrey protested. This time, she succeeded in pulling the napkin away.

Raphael set the spoon back down, retrieved the napkin from where it had fallen on Audrey's chest and pushed it back underneath her neck.

"Don't do that," Audrey muttered.

"I will do that," the angel replied without a hint of annoyance or even interest. "You must eat now."

Oh, this really _was_ awful. Audrey's eyes burned with the onslaught of embarrassment. She was going to be fed like a baby. The angel was going to sit there and spoon soup into her mouth and wipe her lips like she was a drooling, idiot baby.

"God," Audrey moaned wretchedly.

Raphael looked up, her eyes going wide for a second in recognition.

Audrey realized what she had done. "I didn't mean it like that," she said, her shame doubling. "It's just an expression, you know. I didn't actually mean…God."

Raphael slipped her left hand under the bowl, lifting it from the tray as she balanced it in her palm. "I understand. Now please, you must eat."

The spoon dipped into the bowl and then crashed into Audrey's closed lips. She coughed, the lukewarm broth dribbling down her chin. Her napkin was stained already.

"I need a second," Audrey protested. "I need a second!"

The angel withdrew, looking wary for the first time. "Was the soup too hot?"

And because she had to, because she needed to savor what was left of her flagging defiance, Audrey forced her arm up and scrubbed it across her mouth, wiping it clean. "What's in it?" she demanded, not liking the taste of the few droplets that had managed to sneak past her lips.

Raphael leaned closer, tipping the bowl so that Audrey could peek past the ceramic rim. The broth was pale, a watery, pastel yellow. There were tiny flecks of green and grey and a sprig of…

"Rosemary?" Audrey questioned. "Is that rosemary?" Her stomach turned over.

Raphael looked down at the bowl, as if she herself wasn't certain what she was holding. "Yes."

"Rosemary," Audrey said incredulously. "I _hate_ rosemary."

Raphael's mouth opened slightly, her face looking long and bony, her sharp chin pressed against the bulky collar that stretched around her thin neck. "I thought the scent would be soothing."

"It makes me want to be sick," Audrey replied, spitting the words back at her. She was being obnoxious and she knew it. Being a horrible, spoiled little brat. But she had an excuse to act snotty, didn't she? The bones in her body ached and her lungs were sore and she could barely lift her head off the pillow to look Raphael in the eye. And everything, yes everything, had gone to shit, cause Mom was dead and Dad was dead and their was an angel, a fucking angel with razor-tipped wings trying to feed her like a baby.

This time, Audrey managed to subdue her tears before they started. She did sniffle though, her nostrils tickled by the woody scent of rosemary and whatever other disgusting herbs the angel had put in the soup. And then there was that other smell, she remembered. The metallic one. The one that almost smelled like a beach or the sea. Something…briny.

"What else?" she asked, if only because she needed a minute to compose her. "What else is in the soup?"

Raphael kept her spindly fingers over the tip of the spoon, stirring. "Fish," she said, showing Audrey the bowl again. Shreds of delicate white meat swam to the surface. "From the lake outside."

"Oh," Audrey groaned. She decided not to tell the angel that she hated fish nearly as much as she hated rosemary. Or maybe Raphael already knew that and was making her eat the soup anyway.

Passive aggressive bitch.

"Look, I'm not really hungry," she said, trying her best to worm her way out of what seemed to be an increasingly unpleasant situation.

Raphael didn't even have the decency to look sympathetic. "You _must_ eat," she insisted. "Nourishment will give you strength. You will be able to stay awake longer. You will get well. This is for your benefit, little one."

There was something vaguely artificial about the way Raphael spoke, Audrey decided. It was almost as if she wasn't there. As if she were standing on a stage reading the lines of a play but not really acting. As if she were talking from behind a mask.

Detachment, that was the word. She was detached, standoffish. Distant. Michael had been distant yes, but not disinterested. Raphael, on the other hand, was the worst of both worlds, her bearing suggesting a mixture of aloofness and, frankly, boredom.

And in her heart of hearts, Audrey didn't know if she should trust in this angel's patience, which also might turn out to be rather artificial.

"Okay," she said, letting her breath out slowly so as not to jar her aching ribs. "I'll have some soup. But I also want to know what's going on here, all right?"

Raphael fiddled with the spoon, sweeping it around the bowl. "A bargain, then" she said evenly. "I will answer your questions if you eat."

Audrey snorted. Was this angel for real? "What am I, five?" she asked.

"No, you seem older than that to me."

Audrey stared at her, looking for a hint of amusement, a sign that she might possibly be joking. She saw nothing.

Raphael's face was bare, scrubbed clean of emotion. If anything, she looked benign, if not a little dull. Lifting the spoon, she pressed it to her patient's lips.

Audrey drank, only because she felt like she really had to. Much to her dismay, the taste of rosemary was evident. The flavor was obtrusive, overwhelming the otherwise bland broth and weak fish. Maybe Raphael didn't cook often.

"All right," Audrey said, trying her best not to gag. At the moment, she truly did feel like a five year old kid being force fed some hated medicine. "My turn now. I want you to tell me where I am."

Raphael's brow creased, her eyes narrowing in thought. "We are in a cabin on the edge of a forest. I took you north after the accident."

"North of the Mojave," Audrey replied. Even though she wasn't satisfied with the answer, she couldn't blame Raphael. Geography wasn't exactly her strong point either. "That's not really helpful. Can you be a little more specific?"

"North," Raphael rolled the word around on her tongue. "I believe this place is called Washington."

"Washington State or Washington D.C.?"

Raphael shook her head, looking for all the world like a startled horse as her nostrils dilated. She seemed bewildered. "I am…uncertain."

Hmm, now that was strange. Audrey thought angels were sure about everything. Michael had definitely seemed sure about what he was doing. And Gabriel, well, he seemed to lack no conviction when it came to carrying out his mission or whatever it was he'd been sent to do. But somehow, it was comforting to see Raphael appear confused. The emotion was human. Definable. Something Audrey herself could possibly relate to.

"Washington, Washington," she mumbled as the angel readied another spoonful of soup. Washington State was definitely north of the Mojave, Audrey knew that. And hadn't her friends dragged her to see that dumb _Twilight_ movie a year ago? That had been set in Washington, a place with big green forests and apparently, vampires and werewolves.

_Well, no stupid vampires or werewolves here_, she thought. _Just angels. _

She smiled at her private joke, just in time for Raphael to shovel more soup into her mouth.

"I wasn't ready," she complained, hating the feel of the slippery fish as it slid down her gullet. "You could've choked me."

"I would not, little one," Raphael replied.

Audrey almost rolled her eyes. "That's very demeaning."

"Being fed soup? I apologize for the affront, but it seems that you are unable to hold the spoon."

"No," Audrey growled, her irritation climbing. She was beginning to think that this angel was acting oblivious on purpose and it was annoying. Really, really annoying. "Calling me little one."

Raphael's face tensed, her lips bunching together in what appeared to be a nervous frown. "Oh," she said, her fingers loosening around the spoon. It fell, hitting the ceramic rim of the bowl with a shrill clang.

"I only meant to sound gentle," Raphael rattled on, her voice muted. "I only meant…this shames me."

Audrey's brows darted up, her eyes going wide as she stared at the angel with the great hulking wings and long, lean body and saw a tell-tale flush of color rise in her pale cheeks. Was she…was she actually embarrassed?

"You've gotta be kidding me," Audrey said, feeling for the first time that she had the upper hand. It was all kinds of awkward seeing an angel blush and stammer and fumble over her words like a gawky middle schooler and right now, Raphael seemed to shrink into herself, her eyes darting over to Audrey with a faintly apologetic glint.

"I am sorry," she replied at length, her breath streaming out through her thin nose, "but I do not know your name."

It was hilarious and Audrey would have laughed if her lungs didn't jar against her ribs, leaving her dizzy with pain. She satisfied herself with a weak sort of chuckle, something meant to convey sarcasm and a perfect hint of disdain.

"You saved my life and you don't even know my name," she said, blinking her eyes to rid herself of the blurry waves of exhaustion that obscured her vision. "I thought angels were all-knowing and shit, but you don't even know my name!"

And she did laugh, in spite of the pain and the nagging sense that she was driving away the only being she could possibly rely on.

"Audrey," she muttered, tears squeezing from her eyes as a bolt of agony shot through her heaving stomach, nearly bringing the soup back into her mouth. "My name is Audrey."

"Audrey," Raphael repeated, sounding almost shy. She picked up the spoon and turned it over in her fingers. "I remember now. Gabriel told me your name was Audrey. I should not have forgotten." The remonstrance in her voice was strong and she stirred the soup vigorously, raising another spoonful to Audrey's lips. "But you are mistaken," she said. "Angels have only the knowledge that God grants them. If we knew, if we understood all things…" She trailed off. "Eat."

Audrey obeyed grudgingly, surprised when the taste failed to offend her outright. In fact, the tepid liquid was silky now, sliding down her throat and easing all the little aches that she hadn't recognized before. But a new discomfort had settled in her chest, sending threads of unease throughout her body, penetrating her hazy mind until she felt herself begin to sweat.

The blankets on her body were heavy, the breezy sheets suffocating and as Raphael hovered over her, Audrey felt daunted, felt terrified to be in the shadow of such a brutal creature.

Because Gabriel had been brutal. Gabriel, who apparently knew her name.

But she didn't want to think about Gabriel, because thinking about Gabriel meant that she had to think about Paradise Falls and that awful, vengeful holy light that came streaming through the windows and the door when her mom, when her mom…

"Gabriel," she spoke his name even though she didn't want to.

Raphael looked up, her expression startled. Almost like a deer in the headlights. "Gabriel," she echoed, a vein pulsing in her throat, throbbing against that ugly metal collar.

"You know him?" Audrey asked, all too aware that they had long ago breached their bargain of one question per spoonful of soup. But Raphael didn't seem to mind. "You do know Gabriel, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Very well?"

"Yes."

"Well." Audrey was unable to keep from shuddering now. It was strange how quickly her body went cold and how her sweat became clammy when before, the air in the room had been stifling. She shivered, violently, her lips starting to tremble as she realized just how vulnerable she was lying there. Completely defenseless. "Well," she repeated, "does he still want to kill me?"

And Raphael did something strange then. She smiled.

"No, little one," she said and for once, Audrey was comforted by the endearing term. It was a phrase a mother might use to chase away nightmares and monsters in the closet and to lull a scared kid to sleep, a kid who felt that the world was against her and that the dark would gobble her up if someone didn't protect her.

But her mom was dead now. Dead. And all the monsters in the closet and all the nightmares and all the dark was set loose on the world and Audrey was defenseless. She had no one to save her…

"Eat."

Raphael pushed another spoonful of soup into her mouth, allowing Audrey to swallow her tears along with the rosemary and the fish and the weak broth.

"I'm feeling really tired," she said and it was only half a lie. Her eyelids were drooping and she did feel that somewhat pleasant sensation of deep, deep sleep steal over her, which existed as the only balm to her suffering.

Audrey didn't feel pain when she slept and that was a blessing. It was a-

"A reprieve, then," Raphael said crisply. She placed the spoon and the bowl back on the tray. "You'll finish the rest later. Sleep now." She looked at Audrey with discerning eyes.

Eyes that see everything, Audrey reasoned. It made her uncomfortable.

"Would you like some water before I go?" Raphael asked. Her hand moved towards the glass on the nightstand.

"Yeah." Audrey tilted her head up as much as she could, watching as the angel brought the glass carefully to her lips. And as she drank, she studied Raphael's hands, her long fingers that folded over the glass, the small, very light hairs on her knuckles, the blue veins that trailed all the way down to her wrist joint, which was thin and birdlike.

They were soft hands. Gentle things with smooth skin and creased palms. Quiet hands.

"Can I ask you one more question?" Audrey muttered after Raphael had removed the glass and placed it back on the nightstand.

"You may."

"Why'd you save me?" It seemed like an obvious query, perhaps the very first thing she should have asked and the answer, she thought, would definitely be a nice one. Something that could be expected from an angel, something that was so unlike what Gabriel was. Something that suited Raphael, with her gentle hands.

Raphael looked askance and for a moment, Audrey thought she was flushing again. But then she looked her patient in the eye and Audrey knew she had been mistaken. The gentleness was in the hands, but not in the eyes. Never in the eyes.

"I was angry," Raphael said simply. "I did not wish to return home. And I decided to…what do you humans call it, when you leave your house and your family for spite?"

"Running away," Audrey replied. The words stuck in her throat.

"Yes, I suppose I ran away. Are you certain it's called running away? I do not care for that. It is too simple a phrase. Too human, I suppose." Raphael shrugged and picked up the tray.

Audrey's chest burned and she felt like she couldn't breath and her eyes started to sting. She couldn't believe this…this casual cruelty. This complete disinterest and disregard. This…this _belittling _arrogance.

"You don't give a flying fuck about me, do you?" she accused. "Am I just a distraction for you?"

Raphael's mouth popped open, but she didn't look entirely shocked. More like guilty, Audrey thought with grim satisfaction. She looks pretty damn guilty.

"I enjoy caring for you," the angel said, her voice sounding a bit higher. "It is what I was created to do."

"So I'm your hobby?" Audrey asked.

Raphael shook her head, her bewilderment returning. "Hobby?"

Audrey clenched her teeth together, the pain in her skull increasing tenfold. She wished,

with all her might, that she could spring up in bed and smash the angel across the mouth. "I'm just a distraction," she repeated, acknowledging a truth that was cold and cut her deeply, even though she had no reason to care about Raphael or her motives. " I'm just a little project to keep you busy while you sulk here on earth cause you don't want to go home cause you're a fucking psycho bitch. I…I can't believe this!"

"You have simplified things," Raphael argued, although she didn't sound all that convincing. "This matter is…complex."

"You piece of shit!" Audrey spat. She was angry, so angry that she thought she might scream and cry, because it had all been for nothing. The tenderness, the nurturing, the disgusting soup. "Just a game," she sputtered. "This is all just a game to you. You fucking c-"

But she didn't finish. She couldn't bring herself to say such a word even though the angel most definitely deserved it. It was a word her father had once called her mother and it had been horrible. Just horrible. Audrey knew she couldn't possibly repeat it, but her fury was stagnant, all-consuming and she needed to vent. So she lashed out, used what minimal strength she had and knocked the tray from Raphael's hands.

The tray flew up, the spoon hitting the floor, the heavy, ceramic bowl tumbling across Audrey's shins. The soup spilled all over the blankets, shreds of fish mingling with the sprigs of rosemary, the broth spreading out in a wet stain.

Raphael clicked her tongue, looking annoyed for the first time. "That was unnecessary." She reached for the bowl, her hands fumbling over the soaked bed clothes.

But Audrey stared. Stared down at the ridges in the blankets where her legs lay, where the bowl had smacked against her shins, where the broth had seeped through the sheets.

And then she knew. She knew.

"Raphael," she said, her voice trembling, tearful. "I can't feel my legs."

The angel looked at her, something very like shame coloring her pained expression. "I know," she said.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thanks so very much for reading! If you have a free moment, please leave a review. I truly cherish all feedback I receive.

In chapter six, Audrey hears the truth about her condition and learns more about the nature of miracles. Raphael receives another surprise visit. The next chapter has already been written and should be posted soon. Until then, take care and be well!


	6. Chapter Six The Book of Tobit

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter six of "Rebirth". Initially, the content of this chapter was supposed to appear in chapter four, but as I have a tendency to rewrite constantly, it's making its debut now. As always, I would like to thank everyone who read the last chapter, along with those that reviewed, **saichick, burning blossom, **and **Maladicta**. In addition, I would also like to everyone who has added this story to their favorites/author alerts list. You guys truly are the life blood of this story. I do hope you enjoy this installment.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Six The Book of Tobit**

It was amazing how methodical Raphael could be. Her movements, which always tended towards the mechanical, were exquisitely calculated as she moved about the room, stripping the soiled sheets from the bed, righting the empty soup bowl on its tray, finding a stack of clean blankets in the narrow closet by the window.

Audrey watched the angel with numb curiosity. Her thoughts were scattered and it was enough for her to breathe, just breathe.

She couldn't bear to look down the length of her broken body at her legs, which she figured must be horribly misshapen or deformed in some way. But even the touch of the chilly air on the soles of her feet eluded her. Her bones were dead weight, her flesh already decaying and she felt an awful lot like Annabel Lee, the fragile corpse in her coffin attended in death by a winged seraph from Heaven.

Heaven. Angels. _Yeah, right. _

Audrey blinked her eyes. She looked at Raphael now standing by the foot of the bed, with her great big wings that did not seem to suit her lean body, with her name that was a man's and her tapered, feminine face. And Audrey finally remembered what had been on the tip of her tongue all along, the memory that had slipped into her mind and then disappeared.

She remembered who Raphael was. Or at least, who she was supposed to be.

"I know who you are," Audrey said wistfully.

The angel was her nearly beyond view now. She was crouching by the edge of the bed. Audrey risked a glance down at her body, looked past her bruised flesh and noticed that Raphael was holding something in her hands. Something small that fit in her smooth palm.

"I think I know who you are," Audrey said once more.

The angel glanced up quickly, her expression filled with fleeting sympathy. "Not now," she replied in a voice that was more harried than soothing. "Audrey, listen to me carefully for a moment. I need to examine your legs. I want you to concentrate. I want you to lie still and answer my questions."

"Yeah," Audrey replied ambiguously. She moved her head, raising her chin so that she could look at the eggshell white ceiling above.

Breathe, she could only breathe…

"You might not believe this, but I went to Catholic school."

"Oh." Raphael shifted. Audrey could hear her boots thundering against the floor, the thick soles making a heavy, guttural noise as they scraped across the hardwood planks.

A lump rose in her throat and she could not swallow it away no matter how hard she tried. It was like a dry pill, stuck there in her gullet. Audrey felt her heart pulse against it. She wondered what it would be like to choke to death.

"My grandma was kind of wealthy," she said. "She was also a devout Catholic and my mom knew that if she ever wanted to get anything out of the inheritance, she had to send me to Catholic school. She had to pretend like we cared about faith and religion and all that junk. So I went. I went to Holy Name of Jesus School, kindergarten through eighth grade. But you didn't know that, right? Because according to you, angels are just as dumb as humans. Dumb as shit."

"Again, you are simplifying the issue," Raphael muttered distractedly. She paused for a minute, then added, "Audrey did you feel that?"

But Audrey was numb. _Numb. _She had tried to wiggle her toes, but nothing happened. She had tried to move her knee a little, but couldn't. She had dug her nails into her thigh in a desperate bid to feel pain, but she felt nothing.

A laugh now accompanied the lump in her throat. Some sickly, hateful thing. It pooled in her mouth and stretched her lips into a grimace. "When I was in the sixth grade, I had this horrible teacher," she said, still staring at the ceiling, which she now realized was not perfect. The paint job was crummy and like a true eggshell, the plaster had several thin cracks in it. "He was a real nut. We all hated him, but we were kinda scared of him too, because he was tall and mean. And he had this bushy mustache that he never seemed to trim. I remember that. He had that gross mustache. Anyway, this guy taught us religion. He was a real freak about it, too. Totally obsessed. And very strict. Like very, very strict. He used to give us these tests about once a month. We had to pick a passage from the Bible, memorize it and then write it all down word for word. That's pretty hard, right? I mean, for sixth graders, anyway."

But Raphael didn't seem to be listening. "How about this?" she asked. Audrey heard her brushing up against the bed, the springs sagging with a metallic groan. "Did you feel that at all?"

The lump was thick in her throat now. Hard. Audrey felt as though she really would start to choke if she didn't keep talking. If she didn't say something. Breathe, she needed to breathe.

"He was going to give us one of those tests," she said, "when my friend Sarah and I came up with a good joke. We wanted to really shock him, you know? Because he was such a prick. So we both spent an afternoon trying to find the dirtiest stories in the Bible, which he probably knew about anyway, but we thought it might freak him out. Sarah picked Sodom and Gomorrah, which is what I wanted, but she was being a bitch about it. I finally found something I liked, though. Took a while, it was hidden smack in the middle of the Old Testament. I found this story about a girl who wants to get married, but every time she tries to have sex with her new husband, a demon comes and kills him. Then finally, this guy, Toby-"

"Tobias."

"Whatever." Audrey kept staring at the ceiling. "This guy, this _Tobias_, he's the one that finally gets to marry the girl, but that's only because he had help…from an angel. And you know what, I remember the angel in that story, even though I read it so long ago. The angel's name was Raphael and he was a man, a guy. Just some guy who went walking around with Tobias, helping him have sex with his wife. So is that what you are, Raphael? Some gender-confused angel who tags along on honeymoons? Tell me, is that really who you are? Because I think that's pretty sad, you know. And just a little pathetic." She paused and considered. "All right, well, it's _really_ pathetic. Do you hear me? Do you hear what I'm saying? Raphael!"

She was annoyed when the angel didn't say anything. Audrey couldn't help herself. She dropped her chin, forcing herself to look down at her body and at Raphael.

What she saw shocked her.

Raphael was kneeling by the foot of the bed, a little sliver of steel in her hand. And that little sliver of steel, that safety pin, was stuck in one of Audrey's big toes. And there was blood, red blood welling around the needle, but Audrey felt nothing. She felt nothing at all.

"Anything?" Raphael asked, something of resignation in her voice.

The lump in her throat finally silenced her. Audrey only shook her head.

_No. _

Raphael pulled the needle out and tossed it on the nightstand. It made a low, tinkling sound, almost like a wind chime.

Audrey shivered.

"It's as I feared," Raphael said, rising. She fetched the fresh set of sheets and the green afghan she had found in the bedroom closet and smoothed the coverlets over Audrey's legs, tucking her in like a consummate, if somewhat unaffectionate mother. "How unfortunate this is."

And as quickly as it had formed, the lump in Audrey's throat dissolved. She coughed, her lungs crashing against her bruised ribs. She coughed again and felt like she would vomit. "Shut up," she told the angel, all too aware of the tears that were beginning to burn her eyes. "Just shut up, okay?"

She wanted to roll onto her side and face the wall, but that was impossible, considering she couldn't feel the lower half of her body. Instead, Audrey turned her head to the window and tried to picture the woods around the cabin. The great, big trees and snowy mountains and the lake. She thought of the lake.

Because it was easier for her to think about the lake and the mountains and the trees, easier to think about the world outside instead of reality, which was closing in on her like a relentless hunter. Audrey felt as though she were a little rabbit, not the ones she saw in the neighborhood pet shop, but the type she sometimes spotted when she went for walks at the golf course near her old house. She was one of those wild rabbits now. She was poor and helpless. And someone was chasing her, hunting her, driving her through the thorny undergrowth as she ran and ran and ran.

Although she couldn't really run anymore. She might never run again.

This couldn't be happening.

Breathe…she was trying to breathe.

From somewhere off to the side of the bedroom, Audrey heard Raphael sigh. It was a melancholy sound and it made her shiver again.

_Hopeless_. The word jumped into her mind. It wasn't a good sign when an angel didn't have hope, because they were supposed to be all about faith, right? Michael had talked a lot about faith. He had exuded it.

But Raphael, she was, she was…

Real. Because this moment was real. It wasn't like a surreal dream or a haunted nightmare. It wasn't like some sick, morbid fantasy. It was real and it was terrible. And Audrey knew she couldn't accept it, because accepting it meant that she was lost. It meant that she too had to be hopeless.

She shut her eyes for an instant and conjured up meaningless images in her mind, flashes of childhood, moments that were inconsequential but meaningful now because she needed them to survive. She thought of Sarah and herself, two smartass kids who had wasted so much time trying to piss off a stupid teacher. But the memory made her laugh. It brought a warm sense of comfort into her stomach and chipped away at her fear, which she tried to view as irrational.

_I don't have to be scared_, Audrey thought. _I don't have to be scared because I don't have to think about this, this…whatever this is._

And whatever this was, it was nothing. It _had _to be nothing. She opened her eyes. She smiled.

"Hey," Audrey said, her voice still numbed by leftover tears, "aren't you going to answer my question?"

"I believe you told me to shut up."

"Can you stop being so literal for five freakin' minutes!" Audrey shouted, turning her head so quickly she heard the bones in her neck crack.

Raphael was standing by the wicker chair again, twisting her fingers together. But she didn't seem half so nervous as she had before. Just sad.

And Audrey hated to be pitied.

"I understand that you are upset," Raphael began, looking conciliatory.

"I'm not," Audrey protested, even though she knew her defiance was weak. "I just-"

"Audrey, we need to have a talk. We need to…I want to discuss your condition with you." And as she spoke, Raphael took a step towards the bed.

For some reason, Audrey was terrified in seeing the angel advance on her, like the specter of doom, the bringer of truth, a vision of cold, hard reality. Of pain. Of something Audrey didn't think she could face, not now and not in a million years. Not now, not ever.

Because she was…she was…

_No._

Breathe.

"Audrey." Raphael braced her hands on the lip of the bed, her nimble fingers spread out on top of the green afghan. "Audrey, I know this might be difficult for you to understand-"

Breathe. She couldn't breathe.

"Not now," Audrey begged. She reached up as far as she could and grabbed her wrist. Feeling Raphael's flesh, feeling the pulse of the blood that coursed through her river-blue veins, it occurred to her that this was the first time she had touched the angel. Of course, Raphael had touched her plenty of times. She had fluffed the pillows behind her head and straightened her blankets and wiped dribbling soup from her lips and even stuck a needle into her toe. But this was the first time Audrey had ever actually tried to touch the angel for herself. The first time she had _felt_ her.

"Not now," Audrey repeated, her fingers squeezing Raphael's wrist joint. "I…I can't."

It was a painful admission, but it was true. Audrey was ashamed of herself. She hoped she hoped beyond hope that the angel could understand her denial. It was a thoroughly human sentiment, an attempt to ward of something bad, even though the evil had already come. It was circling over her head like a vulture, waiting to snatch the innocent rabbit in its unforgiving, iron talons.

Raphael looked at Audrey. The corners of her mouth dipped, but she wasn't exactly frowning.

She just looked sad. The angel always looked sad.

"Very well," she said. "We will talk of other things…for now."

It was a stay of execution. And it certainly wasn't permanent. But still, Audrey accepted the meager grace. She laid back against the pillows and tried to relax. Raphael sat in her wicker chair by the bed.

"Okay," Audrey said. "Okay."

They stared at each other. Angel and human. The gap between them was never more obvious

A moment of silence past before Raphael began to stir, her fatal feathers ruffling. "Well?" she prompted. "I believe the burden of conversation rests entirely with you, little one."

"Hey!" Audrey snapped, her ire rising. "_You_ never answered my question from before."

"Which was what exactly?"

Audrey pulled a face. It was amazing how quickly Raphael could go from sympathetic to snotty, like flicking on a light switch. Oh well, two could definitely play at that game.

"Toby, Tobias," Audrey said, aiming her query at the angel like the barrel of a loaded gun. "Are you the same Raphael from that story or not?"

Raphael turned her head to the side, though she kept her eyes pinned on Audrey. A look of surprising coyness stole across her features, only just slightly tempered by her usual sobriety. "Yes," she replied at length, "you are correct. I am the Raphael who walked by Tobias and cured the affliction of his bride, Sarah, who was sorely troubled by the demon Asmodeus." She said all this casually, as if she were repeating her shopping list.

Audrey had the distinct feeling that the angel was making fun of her. If she could have, she would have crossed her arms over her chest and gotten all huffy. Instead, she only raised her chin a little.

"All right," she said. "Then are you really a guy?"

Raphael's eyebrows jumped upward and Audrey had to smile at her pop-eyed expression. It was clear to anyone who had two working eyes that she was a female angel. She had breasts and round hips and a generally feminine shape even though it was somewhat disguised by her rather masculine attire.

Raphael even glanced down her front, as if she herself wasn't certain how Audrey had mistaken her for a male. However, when she spoke, her voice was soft and considerate.

"I think I understand your confusion," she said, "for it is written that I went amongst Tobias and Tobit with the appearance of a man, a kinsman of their's, in fact. I called myself Azarias, son of Ananias."

"Oh yeah," Audrey said. The particulars of the story were starting to trickle back to her. She remembered sitting cross-legged on the peach colored carpet in her old bedroom, a Bible open on her lap, trying her darnedest to memorize some odd story with weird names so she would pass religion and not have to go to summer school. Although she would never admit it to Raphael, the readings had intrigued her as a child. It was almost like a fairy tale, the brave young man trying to rescue his bride from a scary monster, the old blind Tobit who needed a fish's gallbladder to cure his blindness. And the mysterious angel Raphael, who was the real hero of the story, guiding the hapless humans away from danger and heartache.

It was that Raphael who sat next to her now, the same angel who had tried to feed her rosemary soup. Who had stuck pins into her feet. Who had saved her life…

_What a joke, _Audrey thought, _What a stupid joke. _

"But you must realize," Raphael explained, shifting so that her bulky wings slipped over the back of her chair, "what Tobias and Tobit saw was not real. Azarias was not real. Only what you might call a…a…"She paused and seemed to struggle. "It is like this." Reaching forward, she snatched the afghan off Audrey's knees and held it up in front of her. The throw was fringed and made of a sort of imitation chenille fabric, the kind that Audrey's mom would have never allowed into their house.

"What do you see?" Raphael asked, still hiding behind the moss-green curtain. Her fingers were tangled in the fringe.

"Uh." Audrey hesitated. She really didn't know what to say. The situation was so impossibly ridiculous, seeing an angel duck behind an ugly afghan like a toddler who wasn't very good at hide and seek. "I…ummm…I see the afghan you're holding," she said artlessly.

"But what about me? Can you see me?"

"Just the tops of your wings, a little."

"That isn't the point I'm trying to make," Raphael replied, a note of frustration seeping into her usually placid voice. "You cannot see me behind the veil, but I am still here, yes?"

"Yeah." Audrey thought she knew where the angel was going with this. The logic was simple, really. Just common sense. "So what your basically saying is, when you were with that guy, Toby, Tobias, whoever, you were still Raphael, you were still a female angel, even though you looked like some guy."

"Yes." Raphael dropped the afghan from in front of her face and folded it on her lap. "What remains true within us is not altered. What the humans, what Tobias and Tobit saw was-"

"Like an illusion," Audrey supplied.

"Precisely," Raphael said with a satisfied nod. "Tobit and his son Tobias saw what they wanted to see of me, what they needed to see…a young man called Azarias. And when my journey with them was over, I revealed myself and they both fell to the ground, with much trembling and fear." She paused and then began to intone, "_And now the Lord hath sent me to heal thee, and to deliver Sarah, thy son's wife from the devil. For I am the angel Raphael, one of the seven, who stand before the Lord…_" Raphael trailed off, smoothing the fringe on the afghan with her palms. Her sorrow renewed itself in her expression, showing in the subtle glint in her eyes and the way she seemed to gaze before her, but not actually see.

A long stretch of silence passed. Audrey considered all that Raphael had told her, if only because she didn't want to consider the other things that darkened her mind. Foolishly, she tried to move her toe again, the one Raphael had pricked with the needle. Nothing happened. Nothing at all.

Audrey swallowed. The lump was back in her throat again. Choking. God, it would be horrible to choke to death.

"So," she said, her tongue rolling around in her mouth. "Is this just an illusion too, what I'm seeing now? Are you really, well, _you_?"

And in speaking, Audrey turned her head to the side as much as she could and looked at Raphael, the angel who had gentle hands but wore armor and had knots in her dark brown hair.

Raphael dropped her arms over the sides of the chair and sat up straight. With a wry sort of smile, she glanced at her patient. "Yes, Audrey," said, "you see me now as I truly am…in all my glory."

There was a good deal of sarcasm in that last phrase and more than a little self-mockery. It was if Raphael realized she wasn't looking too impressive just then, not like Michael when he had pulled up to the diner, not like Gabriel when he….

_Whatever._

Audrey tried her best to focus on the here and now, but the here and now wasn't all that promising. In fact, it was downright awful. Just…just terrible. Just, frightening….

And Raphael obviously had some kind of sixth sense when it came to Audrey's fear, because she had really great timing.

"I have answered all that you have asked of me," the angel said. "Can we speak now? It would be better, Audrey, if we were honest with each other," she finished gently.

But Audrey wasn't exactly in the mood for her sudden, tender turn of phrase. Raphael was destroying her fantasy, the safe bubble of memory she had built around herself. A world that was filled with sixth-grade pranks and angels who chased after demons. A delicate, fragile world that only needed to be punctured, only needed to be torn down by someone who was merciless and relentless. The hunter.

Audrey didn't know exactly how she wanted to feel in that moment. After some consideration, she settled for anger, because anger was powerful, in a way. It made her seem threatening. It made her seem incorrigible. It made her seem as though she didn't even care that she couldn't…that she might never be able to…

"How long did you know?" she asked, her words a bitter accusation. "How long have known that I was like this?"

"Like what?"

So Raphael was going to make her say it. She was going to force her speak and give life to her worst nightmare, to acknowledge what her mind even now tried to deny. But truth was a powerful thing in its own right and it forced its way down her throat, into her soul, bringing up all that was honest and painful and very real.

Audrey felt the lump clog her throat. She was choking to death. She was dying…

_Breathe. Breathe._

"I can't walk," she said at last. "I'm paralyzed."

And it was almost a relief to say it. The anticipation had been sickening, but now, for a brief moment, the weight lifted from her chest and she took a deep breath. A deep, cleansing breath.

But then the world came crashing down on her again, as it always did. As it always would, from now on, because Audrey couldn't walk. She could not walk.

Raphael stood, the fluid movement of her lean body pushing the chair back against the wall with an obnoxious scraping of the floorboards. She surveyed Audrey plainly.

"I was unsure," she said. "I only had suspicions and suspicions do not suffice in such situations. I can guess. I can feel and sense, but only our Father is certain of all things."

"_Our _Father?" Audrey threw back at her, her chin puckered even as the veins in her neck bulged, struggling to accommodate the sudden surge of sobs that flooded her tiny body. "Our Father did this to me."

"No, you are wrong." Raphael moved closer. "Gabriel did this to you. He must have injured your spine when you were both thrown from the car. But I am only guessing at this. I am not-"

"Certain?" And although it took a Herculean effort, Audrey managed to lift her head and neck off the pillow. It was as close to a challenge as she could come, a pathetic stirring of the last of her resilience, which was even then diminishing into something like wasted ash and weak dust. "Well, then tell me something, Raphael. Tell me something you actually _are_ certain of, all right? Can you do that? Can you please do that? Cause I need to hear something definite right now, not your wishy-washy crap…not this…this _bullshit_!" She screamed the last word, which was a mistake. Her lungs expanded suddenly against her ribs and the pain cut off her voice and then she did choke, she really _did_ choke.

As Audrey coughed painfully, tasting blood at the back of her throat. Raphael reached for the cup of water on the nightstand.

"Take a drink," she ordered. "Slowly. Take a drink."

But Audrey clamped her lips together like a stubborn child refusing to take medicine and turned her head away as far as she could.

Raphael sighed tersely this time. Audrey heard her set the cup back down on the nightstand.

"I will tell you what I am certain of," the angel said. She turned away from the bed and paced towards the door, her footsteps very slow, almost hesitant. "I know that you were near death when I found you, Audrey. I know that if I had been merciful, I would have killed you at once. But I seem to be lacking something of mercy these days…or so Gabriel has informed me." Her voice became a little ragged then, but she covered for it deftly, smoothing over her tone until it was as clear as glass.

But Audrey found she was intrigued by the subtle outburst of emotion. She turned her head back to gaze at Raphael and saw that the angel was standing at the door, one of her gentle hands braced over the knob. She twisted the brass convulsively, causing the lock to jump in and out of its slot with a metallic ring.

"I know that I carried you from the wreck, which was not wise of me," Raphael admitted. "I know that I ought to have kept you immobile, but I did not. You can blame me for that, Audrey, if you like. I readily accept the guilt. I know that I took you here, that I found this place for you because it is lovely and I have done what I can to save your life. I know that I watched your breathing for days on end because I feared one of your ribs might have punctured a lung. I know that I made a salve from what wild plants I could find and rubbed it on your skin and fashioned bandages out of old linen to cover the terrible lacerations you had on your arms. I know that I took towels and drenched them in water and set them outside on the porch until they were frozen stiff so that you might have cold compresses for your head. I know that I have surveyed every inch of your body, counted your bones and your breath, pressed my fingers to your flesh and listened to the life in your organs and your blood. I know these things, Audrey. I know, because the Father made me so that I might heal and love and care for humans. And I know that if it were not for me, you would be only be a splotch of red on black tar. A decaying corpse. A mere puddle of blood on pavement."

There was a pause. Raphael let go of the door knob and turned back around, facing Audrey with a sort of weariness that etched lines of care and concern into her otherwise empty expression.

But in looking at her, Audrey could only feel sick. Raphael had spoken and she had listened to every word, expecting anger, annoyance, frustration. Something definite. Something Audrey could point to and say there, yes there beats the heart, there exists the soul.

But Raphael was nothing. She was soft-spoken and calm. She was a mirror of clear glass that did not reflect. She was hollow.

It occurred to Audrey then, with a great leap of fear, that maybe, just maybe, angels were soulless.

And yet, she had to have faith. She had to have hope.

"Healer," she said timidly, trying to shape the awkward word on her lips. " I'll tell you now what I know, Raphael. I remember that story. I remember everything about Tobias and Tobit and Sarah. I know that you were a healer. I know that you fixed people. Is that what you're going to do for me, Raphael? Can you fix this? Can you fix me?"

And for what seemed to be the first time, a genuine emotion crossed Raphael's face. It was sadness. The angel looked very sad.

"It is God who heals," she said mournfully. "Not I."

* * *

><p>Some hours later, Raphael slipped onto the porch, letting the screen door swing closed behind her as she felt all the stuffy heat and tension from the cabin follow her out into the cold evening air. The night had a sort of solemnity to it and she thought the mood was appropriate. It matched the tears and frantic protests of the young girl in her care, the wild defiance and misguided hope that had made her almost delirious with denial. And Raphael found that she felt very sorry for Audrey, very sorry indeed. The human was young and she had already lost her wings.<p>

Standing on the edge of the porch, where the wooden platform sloped off into two rickety steps, Raphael tried not to blame herself. She had done all that she could. She had nurtured and nursed and used all of her natural skill to heal the little one, but it hadn't been enough. For without the Father, she was nothing. She was weak. She was impotent. She was Michael without his wings, fighting his fellow angels in a diner in the backwoods of the Mojave.

Raphael knew she could do many things, but she did not have the power to make the lame rise and walk again. She could not perform miracles.

And Audrey needed a miracle.

Raphael had never felt so useless in all her life. She was a ruin, a wreck and she had failed at almost everything. Every endeavor. Every hope. Every faint wish and dream.

She had failed. She had failed to stop Gabriel from obeying the Father, that much was obvious. And she had failed to stop Michael from disobeying. She had failed to convince him, when he first met her in the Garden and told her of his planned defection, that what he was about to do was the most supreme folly and that it would destroy them all.

Because Michael hadn't listened. He had only been angry with her, as he had never been angry before…

"_You cannot ask this of me." _

"_You will never disobey, Raphael. You will never take a side."_

Audrey was right, Raphael decided. She was indeed pathetic.

A sigh worked its way past her lips, joining with the lisping rustle of the wind, which sounded empty that night. The lake slumbered in its curved, clay-lined banks and the air smelled of faintly fire. Only faintly.

Raphael looked at the sky and then back to the earth, back to the shadowy lines of the distant snow-capped mountains and the uneven tops of the stately evergreens. The stillness of the world did not deceive her. There was a subtle, yet powerful undercurrent stirring beneath all the false placidity, a pounding, drumming heartbeat that pulsed along the surface of the earth.

Her senses were attuned, her mind bent towards all things otherworldly, beyond sight and sound and smell and touch and taste. Bracing her arms on the porch railing, she noticed how her flesh prickled in the pale moonlight. Her breathing became shallow.

Behind her, the curtains in Audrey's bedroom window fluttered over the sill like the smoky arm of a phantom. The girl was sleeping, this Raphael knew, not peacefully, but sleeping. She could hear her dreams and they were a myriad of confused images, inkblots on a feverish mind. And beyond Audrey's dreams, beyond the thread of her nightmares, Raphael felt something else, heard something that was quiet and low, but there, yes there.

He was moving, flitting through the trees with silken grace, his ebony wings whispering among the emerald boughs with a fatal, steely ring.

Raphael smiled knowingly. She wasn't exactly in the mood for company, but he had never been one to grant her privacy.

"You came," she said to the night and the air and the earth that was quiet, but not entirely still.

He did not respond.

Raphael's smile widened. His stubbornness was familiar, recognizable, and she enjoyed the surge of nostalgia it brought. She hadn't really realized, of course, how lonely she had been.

"Just tell me," she said, stepping down off the porch and onto the dirt drive so that she could greet him properly, "did Gabriel send you or did you come on your own?"

A pause. A breathless pause. And then he emerged from the trees.

"It was both," Michael said, with only a ghost of a grin.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>The Book of Tobit, referenced numerous times in this chapter, is indeed part of Catholic and Orthodox canon. Furthermore, everything both Raphael and Audrey discussed can be found in the Book of Tobit, with the exception of Raphael's gender being female as opposed to male.

In chapter seven, Michael and Raphael have a strained reunion. Raphael's desire for solitude falls regrettably short. The next chapter has already been written and should be posted in roughly ten days.

Thanks so much for reading! If you have a free moment, please leave a review. I'm always deliriously happy whenever I receive feedback for this story. Take care and be well!


	7. Chapter Seven Domestication

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter seven of "Rebirth". As usual, I would like to thank everyone who read the last chapter and **saichick**, who reviewed. In addition, I'd like to thank all those readers who have added this story to their favorites/author alerts list so far. I really appreciate the support and encouragement. I do hope you enjoy this installment!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Seven Domestication**

They were both in the kitchen, a small room that had been placed in the middle of the cabin and had only three walls, one of which was entirely taken up by a rather large window that looked out over the garden. Raphael stood by the vintage tin table and Michael by the stove. They stared at each other uneasily, the tension between them manifesting itself in small, quick movements. Raphael drummed her fingertips on the table top. Her nails made low clicking sounds.

Michael kept his arms crossed closely over his chest, his elbows jutting out at sharp angles. He looked at the pantry, the door of which was still ajar from when Raphael had raided it that morning. A jar of thyme sat on the edge of the stove and there was a saucepan set over a burner, the bottom coated with a film of dried soup.

"Cooking?" he asked with a jerk of his shoulders.

Raphael's eyelids fluttered. The skin about her cheeks pulled tight when she frowned. "For the human. For Audrey," she clarified. For some reason, she felt proud being able to say the girl's name. It was a mark of accomplishment, something she could hold up against his many triumphs and be pleased with.

Michael's eyes were sharp when he glanced at her. Discerning. His face bore the astuteness of an aged scholar. "Audrey," he said, drawing out the long vowel's in the name. "You have enjoyed caring for her."

Raphael drew closer to the table, feeling the cold lip of it pressed against her thigh. She wasn't exactly certain what he was implying and she had know Michael to possess a rather manipulative streak. But a large part of her still trusted him, still looked to him as her beloved General and closest companion.

Besides Gabriel, of course.

Raphael swallowed. She had always considered herself wise and wisdom told her not to be a fool now. Michael already had her cornered. He was forcing words from her that she had never meant to speak.

She could not admit too much to him, not now, when her soul was bleeding and she herself was destroyed.

"The girl was broken when I found her," she said rather stiffly. "But I have not yet forgotten how to heal."

"No." Michael raised his fair eyebrows. "Gabriel told me that you have healed Audrey. He said that he thought the girl was dead, but that you brought her back to life."

"Apparently," she replied, wondering just what else Gabriel had shared with him.

Michael grunted, the noise quiet, a hint of mild amusement. "I am proud of you, Raphael. For this…" He gestured towards the closed door of Audrey's bedroom.

And all too easily, Raphael found herself blushing. It was the validation she had secretly craved. She had wanted Michael to take note of her progress, to admit to himself that she had grown, that she had learned.

"But I assume this has been quite a trial for you," he continued. "It was easier when you journeyed with Tobias as Azarias. You always loved humans, but you never seemed to properly understand them."

And he was correct. Raphael admired Michael for his sharp mind, although of late, she thought he had been wrong more than he had been right. She began to feel distinctly jealous.

Michael loved humans, as Raphael did. But there was something about the other angel, something in his ability to identify with mortals that made it so much easier for him to be around them. Raphael herself had never been so lucky. She admired the little ones from afar, but was dumbfounded by their behavior. They puzzled her with their fragile flights of fancy and their pouting disillusionment and their wild, mournful misery. Although to be honest, Raphael thought she was beginning to understand something of misery.

Her aloof nature, however, had never allowed her to truly reconcile with the human race. Michael was right. It was easier for her to put on a mask, to disguise herself as one of them, as careless, confident young man named Azarias, than to actually reveal her heavenly body.

Audrey, on the other hand, was proving to be quite the delightful challenge. And although Raphael certainly couldn't say that Audrey liked her, she did believe that her time with the girl had caused some tentative bond to form between them, something that was much more permanent than anything she had experienced before.

But this subject was dangerous and Raphael guessed that Michael was only trying to appease her now before he truly began to air his grievances. In her heart, she knew there were other, more serious motives behind his visit. So said the sad cast of his face. So said his frowning eyes.

Unconsciously, she braced herself for the pain that would ultimately accompany the tearing open of a still tender wound.

"If you are speaking with Gabriel," Raphael said, "then you must have reached some peaceful accord. Gabriel said such to me, but I was not sure I believed him."

"Gabriel would not lie." Michael looked away, touching the edge of the spoon that still stuck out of the saucepan. "It smells of fish in here," he muttered.

Raphael raised her hackles. He was trying to change the subject and she didn't like that. "Do not defer," she challenged, knowing full well that his stubbornness would respond to her provocation. "Have you made peace with Gabriel?"

Michael raised his head, the line of his neck tense. But he smiled. Somehow, he managed to smile. "Tentatively."

And that was all Raphael truly needed, that smile. She relaxed enough to stop drumming her nails on the table. For the first time, she allowed herself to feel the cool sweep of relief throughout her body. Her fears had been many over the past few weeks and to see Michael standing before her now in all his restored glory, his wings stirring gently as he moved about the cramped kitchen, brought some peace to her mind.

It was too much for her to hate him. Slowly, their old affection for each other began to chip away at the tension and Raphael knew that she did not have the strength to prolong her fury. There had been, after all, quite enough heart ache already.

Raphael let herself smile, enjoying the sight of Michael. "Your wings," she said, gesturing at his long, lethal feathers. "How strange you must have looked without them."

"How strange I felt."

"He could never be angry with you. You were always His favorite."

"And yet He indulges you the most."

Raphael almost laughed, but she wasn't quite ready yet. Besides, it wouldn't do to disturb Audrey, who had had enough of a trying day already and needed her rest.

Her knees began to weaken under the weight of her relief and Raphael dropped down into one of the two maple chairs that sat near the table. It was difficult to get comfortable amongst human trappings, she realized. Their furnishings weren't exactly accommodating to a person with wings. It took her a minute to adjust herself and when she finally did, Michael joined her, perching himself neatly in the other chair as though he was entirely accustomed to human carpentry. His ease irked Raphael, who had a hard time keeping her wings draped over the high, rounded back of her seat.

"I never expected this of you," he said, looking around him at the homey kitchen, at the grey tiles on the floor and the cream colored cabinets and the collection of cookie jars that sat on a shelf above the stove. "I never thought you would be so domesticated." He reached across the table and squeezed her gentle fingers in his hard, calloused hand.

"It isn't exactly domestication," Raphael corrected. The quiet touch of his palm on hers was beautiful in its simplicity and it renewed the physical closeness she had missed while separated from her fellow angels. "If I have evolved, it is only for Audrey's sake. She needed a safe place to recover." She paused, bitter reflection filling her mind, tightening her fingers even as Michael grasped her hand. "But Gabriel tells me that I have been cruel. He says I should have killed her. Mercy. I know nothing of mercy."

"Gabriel is sorry he said that," Michael replied readily, his low voice grating in the back of his throat. "He regrets his anger towards you. He knows that you have worked wonders here, taken the child from the grip of death…"

"Which would have been a reprieve for her," Raphael admitted.

Michael's mouth opened. He looked shocked. "Raphael?"

"Her spine is damaged," she said, each of her words nearly drowned out by remembrances of Audrey and her tearful denial when she had learned the truth. "I told the girl that it was Gabriel's fault. It could have happened when she was thrown from the car. But it also could have happened when I moved her, when I took her into my arms and bore her away from the wreck."

"You cannot think-"

"Her spine is not broken," Raphael interrupted, uneager to listen to Michael's weak assurances. "It seems only to have swelled, but still, she ought to have recovered some motion by now. And there is nothing I can do for her, Michael, even though it must be my fault."

He seemed to consider her words for a moment and she was disturbed when he released her hand, dropping his palm back onto his lap. "This is what Gabriel feared," he said slowly, "when he told me that you were becoming too involved."

Raphael recoiled, feeling as though she had been struck. Her eyes burned and her heart began to labor, struggling against a fresh pain that burrowed itself into her breast like a barbed dart.

And it was easy, ever so easy for her to remember just why she was sitting there, away from her home, away from Gabriel and what she had loved. Because it had been Michael's fault. His disobedience. His wretched, uncaring destruction.

Her hand tingled where he had touched her and she felt degraded for having given in to his soothing assertions and kind words so quickly. Michael was, after all, the General. A soldier. He was indiscriminate. And occasionally, he was cruel.

"Please," she said, surprised to hear that she was begging. "Do not reproach me."

"It wasn't my intention," he replied, sounding obnoxiously innocent.

Of course, Gabriel had always insinuated that Michael was truly obnoxious, truly the most arrogant of them all with his reckless behavior and his thoughtlessness, which seemed to disregard any consequence. Raphael had been keen to overlook all those things, because she trusted Michael and she could not imagine a moment of her life without him.

But she had something she could hold against him now, a righteous, potent anger that was her mainstay. She had Michael, the betrayer and Gabriel, who had tried to kill his brother. She had them both, the two angels she had loved most, but now she thought she might hate them.

"How was it," she asked, savoring the power of her words, "Tell me, Michael, how was it when Gabriel dealt you the death blow? How was it for you, while you both grappled like wretched animals in that filthy diner. Blood on the walls and on the floor. Your blood, his blood. The both of you…I'm sick!"

He looked at her, watched her while she shook, her wings rattling against the wooden bars that made up the back of her chair. "I knew we would come to it at last," Michael said and his tone was watery. A nervous frown pinched his lips and he touched his right temple with unsteady fingers.

And Raphael was pleased to see his weakness. She wanted him to wallow in it. She wanted it to seep into his veins and poison him, as it had poisoned her. The venom was alive in her even then. It had crawled into her marrow and hardened and made her a creature of stone. But she still felt and the pain was excruciating.

"Raphael," Michael began.

"Don't!" she warned him immediately. "There is no excuse you can give me. Gabriel tried already, Michael. He failed."

"You sit in judgment," he replied, glancing up at her, worried lines set into his brow. His cheeks looked all the more sunken when he frowned and he bore the appearance of an abused creature, a child who was miserably petulant.

His haughty expression only served to fuel her anger. Raphael slapped her hand back down on the table, the sweat on her palm cooling as it came into contact with the chilled metal. It was easy for her to give into rage now, although she had always considered her emotions to err on the side of temperance. But there was only weariness in her voice when she spoke to him and she did not try to disguise the concern that dragged down her already flagging spirit.

"I am tired," Raphael admitted to him, "I am tired of being the only one to stand between the two of you, to keep you from this…this mutual destruction. I am tired, Michael and-"

"And you should not have put yourself in the middle to begin with," he replied. "You know this."

She was silenced, struck down by his warrior's logic.

It was easy for Raphael to be critical of him, to view all that was past with an objective eye. But she could not rightly judge Michael without first judging herself ,and she realized that perhaps she had been foolish to try to stop his quarrel with Gabriel, to place herself between them when fate had already chosen differently. She had loved them both and she had loved their brotherhood, had wished to bring something of the permanency to all that was impermanent. Raphael had wanted their friendship to endure beyond time. She wanted always to be in the sun and never in the shade. She had asked what could never be asked of Michael and Gabriel.

It had always been the three of them, she knew, for as long as she could possibly remember. Michael. Gabriel. Raphael. It was a srong friendship, intense and she had held onto it, would hold onto it beyond doubt and beyond death.

But things had changed, both then and now. And things had changed when Raphael chose Gabriel.

She wondered, sitting awkwardly in the maple wood chair, if Michael was still angry at her for that. But when she looked at him, she saw only impassivity. Thoughtlessness. And he had been very thoughtless of late.

"I will not be stubborn," she said, keeping her tongue in check lest she add _unlike you_. "I will admit that I am happy to see you, Michael, although I am angry. Angry with you both. There was one thing I asked of Gabriel. There was one thing I asked of you. Neither of you could keep that promise."

"We quarreled," Michael said plainly, but his explanation fell short.

Raphael had been hoping he would offer her an apology, even though she wouldn't have accepted it. She felt slightly offended.

"It was always the three of us," she told him, the memory of their long history faint in her mind. "We always cared for each other."

"Gabriel cares for you still," Michael commented, although Raphael was pleased to see his face tighten a bit when he spoke the other angel's name.

"Do not speak for him," Raphael said sharply, allowing only the blunt-end of her rage to show. "Speak for yourself, Michael. Account for your actions. You swore to me that you would never quarrel with your brother."

"And I broke my vow when I disobeyed Father."

"Exactly," Raphael replied. She was tempted to begin banging away at the table again, but kept her hands folded in her lap. _Michael is right, _she thought, her nose dilating to detect the pungent odors trapped in the tiny kitchen, _this place smells of fish. _

On a whim, she rose, moving over to the single, curtained window and throwing it open. The subsequent blast of chilly air was reviving and from it, she could just see the back of house and the dead garden. She wondered if the humans who had lived there had planted herbs in those flower beds. That would explain the large quantity of dried rosemary she had found hanging from the exposed rafters in the pantry.

"Gabriel told me it wouldn't do any good to apologize," Michael said, his tone off-hand. "And Uriel told me that you hated us both. That is cruel, Raphael."

"I only sought to repay the kindness," she muttered, although the sarcasm in her voice did not necessarily suit her angelic bearing. "Gabriel should have known better. And you should not have asked of me what you did."

"To disobey Father?" Michael asked. He had turned slightly in his chair, one elbow planted on the tabletop. "I knew you wouldn't listen to me."

"Then you shouldn't have asked."

"I had to."

"It was cruel." Raphael put her back to him, took comfort in the soft silver moonbeams that glanced down on the broad boughs of the evergreens. The forest was very quiet this night and she thought she could still hear the gentle stirring of the lake, the rippling, rising waves.

The sound calmed her.

"Gabriel doesn't know," she said, letting the murmur of the water guide her words, which were painful and only seemed to lodge in her throat as she spoke. "I didn't tell him that you asked me to disobey, that you came to me before you fell and asked me to join you. Do you realize now how wrong that was? Do you realize how unjust and unfair you were to ask that I go against him, my own…" She trailed off, her voice failing her.

The air had grown cold and reluctantly, she shut the window. Audrey could very well get chilled and she did not want that. The little one was still so terribly weak.

Raphael's fingers curled under the sill, feeling the dust in the shallow ridges. She tried to focus her thoughts on Audrey, to think about the poor, wretched girl in her care but she could not. Memories taunted her, echoes of shadowed leaves and rustling streams and Michael's words, which were so unjust, so unfair.

_You will not take a side. _

"That day, in the Garden," she said, keeping her back to him. "That day you came to me before you fell. I think I knew then that all I ever loved was going to be taken from me. It was always the three of us, Michael. I wanted our friendship to last forever. But the end came, even though you both swore it never would. The end came."

"The end came," Michael replied and she thought she heard the steely tips of his wings scraping against the cool tiles of the floor as he pushed his chair back and stood. "The end came when you chose Gabriel."

It was harsh honesty. All bared soul and no heart. Raphael wanted to cry.

"You have condemned Gabriel and you have condemned me for breaking the only promise we ever made to you," Michael said, pressing his point until he brought up fresh blood. "And yes, Raphael, I take the blame, but only if you will admit your own guilt. It is something you should have never asked of us to begin with."

Tears. Oh, how she loathed them, especially now, in front of Michael. Uriel was the sensitive one. He wept freely and readily, but not Raphael.

She hated to cry.

And Michael knew it. He knew enough to step forward and pull her towards him, where she could press her face to his chest and disguise her sobs. She wanted to strike him then, but weakness betrayed her and she could only cling to his shoulders and cry.

"Michael, what have you done to me?" she asked, although her words were useless even to her ears.

He said nothing for a moment, allowing his hands to settle in the well of flesh between her two wings. And they stood there together, two angels, as fragile and delicate as any child of man, as broken as the world they had seen destroyed.

But Michael was the strongest and he watched her calmly while she cried. His practiced reserve annoyed Raphael, who wanted the moment to be one of clenched fists and wails and all the hysteria she felt was due to her.

Disgusted with herself more than with him, she pulled away from his embrace, finding another one of those green-checkered napkins sitting by the stove which she used to wipe her face. The fabric was rough on her flesh, unforgiving, but she scrubbed her cheeks clean of tears and then threw the napkin into the sink. The faucet was dripping.

"Are you going to ask me to come home as well?" she demanded of him.

Michael turned his head to the side, his neck long and lean and marked with angelic script. He regarded her from out of the corner of his eye. "You cannot leave Audrey," he stated.

"That is true," Raphael said, feeling relief again. She slumped against the kitchen counter, her wings pressed to her back.

"But you have a duty," Michael continued easily, "a duty to Gabriel, your-"

"Do not speak to me of duty!" Raphael's relief quickly ceded to fresh frustration. "You, least of all, would understand what it means to be dutiful."

Michael drew back, stunned. His face sharpened and he looked as though he were deciding whether or not he wanted to be angry with her. "I did not believe Gabriel," he said at length, "when he told me how cruel you were to him. Perhaps I was very naïve."

"You always have been." Raphael was glad to have a quick retort on her lips. She gripped the counter, her knuckles bulging against her flesh. "But do not say that you were not warned. I told you both what would happen. I never lied."

"No," Michael replied. His momentary flash of undecided anger faded until it resembled grief, a sad, lonely sort of mourning that took the burnished color from his cheeks and made his face look like marble. For an instant, he looked as if he had fallen again, had severed his wings, had disobeyed, had turned brother against brother…

Raphael wondered if he was guilty. She wanted him to be.

"It has destroyed you," Michael said at length, the words grating in his throat, sending a fresh shiver up Raphael's spine.

It had been different when she acknowledged the fact on her own. Easier to swallow. Better to understand. But to hear Michael accept her fate, to add his voice to the cold reality of it all, seemed to deaden her somehow. And Raphael began to wish she hadn't been so fervent in loving them, that she had never made them vow to give her what could not be given.

She had been unfair and they had been unjust and now they were all broken.

And a part of her, a small part of her heart, couldn't help but feel that it was all her fault.

Emotion burned in her eyes. She felt the tell-tale trickle of tears across her already raw cheeks. It would be easy, she realized, to throw her arms around Michael's neck and forgive him, forgive them both for their trespasses. But she was stubborn. She was unbending. And the physician could not heal herself.

"It brings me some measure of comfort," she said, "knowing that you do understand. Perhaps you will go back to Gabriel now. Go and tell my helpmeet what you have learned of me. It may heal him. It may…it may heal all of us…" She trailed off, unable to admit to herself just how hopeless she felt.

The last time they had met, Gabriel had shown no single sign of understanding her. And that was devastating in and of itself. After all these years, after all this time…

Michael stirred, dropping his hand on his hip. His posture sagged and he looked rightfully exhausted, the lines on his forehead deepening.

"I cannot," he told her.

Raphael was taken aback. But then she realized that he was being cruel, returning what she had given to him in abundance.

"I cannot tell Gabriel because I will not leave you," Michael continued on, adding a sigh to his words. "You need help, Raphael."

And with that, he brushed past her, snatching up the soup pot from the stove and placing it in the sink.

Incredulity rose within Raphael, venomous and protective. She suddenly felt as though she had been violated, as if the little home she had tried to create had been invaded by an unfriendly force. But since when had she considered Michael unfriendly?

"I want to be alone," she said lamely, reaching for Michael but only succeeding in grabbing the crook of his wing.

"You cannot be alone," her companion replied, losing his balance only slightly when she tugged at him. "You cannot be alone now, Raphael. Believe me, this is for your own good." Reaching forward, he turned on the cold water faucet in the sink with a twist of his wrist. Water poured into the pot and the air was perfumed with the odor of old soup.

Michael wrinkled his nose. "This house," he muttered, "smells awfully of fish."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thanks so much for reading! If you have a free moment, please do leave a review. Feedback truly is the life blood of this story and hearing from readers really means so much to me.

In chapter eight, Audrey's pleasant reunion with Michael quickly turns sour when she begins to suspect that the angel might have ulterior motives. Also, I am happy to report that Gabriel will be back in full force in the next chapter. I don't think I could bear to keep him out of this story any longer, haha.

Chapter eight is in the works and should be posted in roughly ten days. Until then, take care and be well!


	8. Chapter Eight The Monster in the Closet

**Author's Note: **As usual, I would just like to thank everyone who read the last chapter and **saichick**, who reviewed. Also, I would like to express my sincere thanks to all those readers who have added this story to their favorites/author alerts. Your support is greatly appreciated. I do hope you enjoy this installment!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Eight The Monster in the Closet **

That night Audrey dreamt of rabbits. Skinny, scared little pelts of fur that darted through the undergrowth of some deep, dark forest. There was a hunter somewhere, this she knew. She could feel his shadow moving through the trees and she thought he might look like the Huntsman from Snow White. A big, broad man with a leather coat and an axe and he would kill a wild boar and cut out its heart to save the princess. But there were no wild boars, only rabbits. She saw their bloody skins hanging from the rafters in the hunter's cabin. And there were red patches in the forest, red patches everywhere from when she had dragged herself across the pavement. Blood on pavement, blood on tar. _Raphael…_

Her dream ended when the morning sunlight fell through the solitary window, cutting rudely into her eyes until she was forced to open them. Audrey muttered a curse, the foul word bubbling in the back of her throat as she tried to sit up but realized she couldn't. The soft mattress and all the pillows were like quicksand and it didn't help that she couldn't move her legs, couldn't move them at all.

Audrey heard Raphael in the kitchen, turning up the flame on the stove. Water streamed from the sink faucet, echoing within the metal confines of what she guessed must be a tea kettle. She groaned. Her empty stomach churned at the mere thought of the rosemary soup.

"Raphael!" she called, desperately wanting to punch her pillow. "Raphael, where the _hell_ are you?"

Footsteps sounded outside the door, but Audrey was too groggy and too ill tempered to realize how much louder the noise was, how much heavier than Raphael's considerably light tread.

She turned her head towards the window so she wouldn't have to see the angel's perpetually bewildered expression and her eyes, which were sad but somehow soulless.

The footsteps stopped by the bedroom and there was a faint rustling, the metallic stirring of those lethal feathers. Audrey started to grimace. Her self-pity overwhelmed her, lending a sharp edge to her sorrow until it turned into something that resembled hate.

"You're like a dog, Raphael," she spat bitterly, the side of her mouth pressed against the cool pillow. "You only show up when someone starts whistling for you."

"Raphael is not here right now, but perhaps I can help you with something, Audrey?"

The voice was different from how she remembered it. There was no clear strain, no obvious worry, no tight control. The words flowed easily, one into the other, creating a phrase that was both gentle and only slightly assertive. Audrey felt goosebumps creep along her flesh, and not just because her bedroom window had been left open.

"Michael," she breathed. Turning, she saw him standing just inside the door, his expression thoughtfully paternal.

"Good morning," the angel said and oh, he was an angel now. A real angel with brilliantly large wings and that same heavy armor both Raphael and Gabriel wore.

Audrey nearly squirmed in delight when she saw his familiar face, forgetting, for an instant that it had been Michael who had put those two bullets into her mom.

"I…I can't believe you're here," she stammered. "I figured I'd never see you again."

Michael smiled, reaching out to touch her forearm. "I came for a visit. Raphael tells me that you are feeling better."

"Yeah," Audrey replied, her mouth suddenly tasting like ash. There was a pervasive ache in her sinuses and the pain made her want to shield her face from the bright tendrils of sunlight that came in through the open window. She looked at Michael standing there and remembered when she had been with him last, at Paradise Falls. It occurred to her, with a sinking hurt, that maybe he didn't know what had happened to her. Maybe he thought she could still run and jump and pull herself from a burning van and kneel by Charlie's side while she gave birth. Maybe he thought she was free of all her burdens, possessing a body that was whole and not deformed, not half-dead.

Audrey didn't want to tell him, because she thought that they could live in the fantasy together, a dream that would allow her to run barefoot over the grass like a fleet-footed rabbit. But she had underestimated Michael, he who always seemed to have a sort of sacred solemnity about him, a quiet graveness that expressed itself in his keen, discerning eyes.

The angel moved his hand from her forearm to her shoulder, the weight of his palm warm and comforting against her otherwise abused body. "It's all right," he said, "I understand, Audrey."

She swallowed, feeling that awful lump in her throat again. "Yeah," she repeated, saddened to have her fantasy destroyed so quickly.

It was easier, she reasoned, to play the game of denial with Michael, he who was somewhat distanced from her suffering. It was not Michael, after all, who had been a permanent, yet impersonal fixture by her bedside. Michael wasn't soulless. He wasn't an obscure shadow. He was real and he was definite and Audrey knew that if she listened, she could hear his heart beating. She could witness something in him that echoed human life and that made all the difference to her.

Being with him was like coming home. The nostalgia was safe and comfortable. It was protective. And Michael himself was the great protector, the hero, the true angel.

For the first time in a long while, Audrey felt herself relax. She tried to let her troubles slip into the back of her mind as she reveled in the thoughtful attention he lavished on her. Having him around, having all his efforts and care focused on her and not on Charlie, not on Jeep, not on the baby, allowed Audrey to glimpse hope. She felt special and loved and comforted. She felt like someone was watching over her, someone she could rely on, not like Raphael, who was soulless.

And Michael was right, she thought, it would be all right. He would make things right. He always did.

Audrey smiled. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice light and finally free from the constant strain. "Are you my new nurse or something?"

That made Michael laugh. The sound was full and clear, like the ringing of so many silver bells. Like a rush of rainwater on the surface of a lake. "For now, perhaps," he said, "until Raphael returns."

"Yeah, Raphael." Audrey screwed her lips into a frown. "Uh, is she still hanging around?"

"You sound disappointed," Michael replied, his face suddenly becoming shrewd.

Audrey felt a little embarrassed, knowing that he could so easily pick apart the emotions she thought she hid so well. Raphael was clueless in that department. Michael, on the other hand, carried himself with a practiced certainty. He was like a heat-seeking missile, always pointed in the right direction, always searching for the little spark of discomfort that could readily spread into a wildfire.

Audrey ran her tongue along her teeth, realizing just how bad her breath was. Her embarrassment doubled and she looked away from Michael when she spoke. "No, I'm not disappointed, really. I was just curious. Raphael never seems to go anywhere, she's very-"

"Protective?" Michael offered.

"I was going to say smothering."

"That is also true," he replied, "but do not worry, I managed to pry her away for a while. She is gone to fetch some supplies, some food. She told me you did not care for her soup."

"I guess she tried," Audrey said, feeling as though she should be more grateful for Raphael's efforts, even though they were misguided.

"Raphael always tries," Michael said. He leaned against the wall, his posture casual. "She is well-intentioned."

"And a little crazy," Audrey said, unable to stop herself. She blushed, realizing that she probably shouldn't insult Raphael in front of Michael. By the sound of things, the two seemed very familiar with each other and they could be best buddies for all she knew. "Sorry," she added, hoping to recover from her fumble.

Michael's grin was lopsided. "Don't be. You're not wrong."

A whistle sounded, high and shrill, steam gurgling as it hit the cold air. Audrey jumped, but Michael only glanced over his shoulder out the door.

"I was brewing tea," he said, his voice raised over the screaming kettle. "Raphael wanted you to have some."

"I wouldn't mind," Audrey replied truthfully. Even the layers of blankets piled over her body couldn't entirely keep out the chill that came in through the window.

Michael nodded obligingly and disappeared through the door. She heard him rummaging around in the kitchen, dropping a spoon into a cup, pouring water. He returned a minute later with a mug, although Audrey wasn't about to let him hold it up to her lips like Raphael had a habit of doing.

"I'm going to sit up," she informed him. "I can do this for myself."

Michael looked surprised, but he did not argue. He did not even try to help Audrey as she struggled to push herself up against the pillows, dragging the dead weight of her legs with her.

There was a definite soreness in her upper back and a hollow sort of pain in her chest, but other than that, Audrey felt much better. It was difficult for her to hold her head up though, and she allowed Michael to arrange a few pillows behind her so she could lean back comfortably.

The room swam before her eyes for a minute, dizziness taking hold until all the colors, the light walls, the eggshell ceiling, the blue-curtained windows, blurred into an indefinite whole.

Audrey forced herself to take the mug from Michael. It was heavy and warm in her hands, a little source of pride and victory that she held close to her like a cherished childhood toy.

Michael looked impressed. "You are doing much better than I expected," he said, watching as she shakily raised the mug to her lips and took a small sip.

The tea was fragrant and soothing. Hot swirls of steam kissed Audrey's cheeks and she luxuriated in the tiny comfort, which seemed so dear to her in an overwhelmingly bleak and hostile world.

"Raphael always was the healer," Michael continued. "Our Father made her that way."

"I guess," Audrey said, unwilling to give her rescuer much credit, even though she probably deserved it. "I think it's kinda weird, though," she continued, "that someone who's supposed to be a healer wears armor and looks like a warrior. It's like a-"

"Paradox," Michael supplied.

"Or cruel." Audrey took another sip, the hot liquid nearly scalding her tongue and throat. It was Earl Grey, she realized. The kind that her mom always used to drink.

"It's like going against nature, you know," she said, trying to explain herself but still struggling with the concept, "to make someone do something they weren't really made for."

She was surprised to find that she had even given the matter much thought. Raphael remained indecipherable and Audrey hadn't really been in the mood to sympathize with the angel. But the incongruities were difficult to ignore. Maybe that's why Raphael looked so sad all the time. Maybe she didn't know what to be, because no one had told her.

"Life is complex," Michael said. He had seated himself in Raphael's chair by the bedside, although he looked more comfortable sitting there than the other angel ever had.

"Raphael always says that," Audrey muttered. The mug was growing heavy in her hands. She took another quick sip of the tea, then lugged to over to the nightstand, setting it on the edge. Pausing, she considered her next question, wondering if she dared to peer further into a matter that clearly wasn't her concern, but intrigued her anyway. Her world had narrowed considerably over the past few weeks, causing her own self-centered view to become diluted as her interests overlapped with the interests of others.

"Do you know her very well?" Audrey asked finally, figuring she might as well go ahead and take advantage of Michael's frankness.

The angel shifted in his chair, as if the question had somehow ruffled his calm. Audrey felt a little worried then, because she had thought her query was quite harmless.

Michael, however, looked wary. "I know Raphael well," he said simply. "We are close."

Audrey decided not to push her luck. That was enough for her and she would gladly take what she could get. She leaned back against her soft pillows, signaling to Michael that she was done with her prodding and he could relax.

Gingerly, Michael reached forward and pulled the mug away from the edge of the nightstand, acting like a fussy housewife.

That made Audrey smile and she even laughed, trying to disguise her obnoxious amusement behind the back of her hand.

But Michael grinned right along with her. "I am relieved to see that you are doing so well," he said. "It pleases me to see you smile."

"I haven't been smiling much," Audrey admitted. "I've just been…" She trailed off, looking at the ridges in the blanket where her dead legs lay. "It's bad," she said.

Michael's grin disappeared, his mouth pinching, a few worried lines digging deep into his forehead. "Raphael tried," he said.

That irked Audrey, for in her mind, it came close to a rebuke. A reprimand for the bratty kid who should be content to count her blessings. She made a quiet noise in the back of her throat, a sound of derisive mirth. Of scorn. "She said she can't heal me."

"She tried," Michael repeated.

Audrey sucked in some oxygen through her mouth, her tongue still burning from the tea. She coughed when the cold air hit the back of her throat. "But it doesn't matter," she said, hating her dismissive tone, hating the hurt and the despair she had inadvertently allowed to gain ground within her. Her lungs ached as though they were filled with water and her whole body was weighed down, dragged down and she could not kick herself back to the surface. There was, she knew, very little left in her that could fight to survive.

"It doesn't matter that Raphael tried," Audrey echoed, "because all I want to do is walk again."

She didn't know what she expected Michael to say. There were no magic words, no easy answers.

The angel folded his hands together, his shoulders dropping ever so slightly as he leaned forward in the chair closer to her. "Have faith," he said and that was all.

Audrey chewed at the corner of her mouth, acknowledging his wisdom for what it was, while accepting, at the same time, that she might never understand.

"Yeah," she muttered numbly, "have faith."

There was a moment of silence. In the distance, Audrey thought she could hear the sounds of forest outside, a few chirping birds, the rustling of heavy boughs, maybe even waves on the lakeshore. She tried to let the noises settle her, but the more she concentrated on them, the more she felt sorry for her predicament.

And she hated herself then, for taking so much for granted. Mom, Dad, everything. Yeah, _everything_.

Michael shifted in his chair again, something of determination carved into his otherwise neutral expression. "Raphael has tried," he said slowly, and maybe a little hesitantly, "but I think we can both agree that it isn't enough."

Audrey looked up at him. His tone had changed, as had his bearing. She thought she caught a little glimpse of the Michael she had seen back at the diner, the calculating soldier, the tactician.

And that made her a little nervous, because she didn't really want to do back to the diner just then, back to that claustrophobic little truck stop with Dad bleeding to death on the floor and Mom screaming and gunfire and the clatter of empty shells all around them.

_Mom, you have to open your eyes! Open your eyes!_

And Michael, he wasn't even there to protect them. He didn't even care…

"I shouldn't get down on Raphael," she said, trying to make amends for her previous flub. "It's like you said, she means well…I think."

"You are being considerate," Michael said. His voice was clipped, even business-like. "But you should not worry about sparing Raphael's feelings. This situation…it is not ideal, Audrey. Not for you. Not for Raphael. Do you understand what I am telling you?"

Audrey turned her head, looking away from him. A few tangled strands of her hair brushed across her forearm. "Uh." Her stomach began to ache and she felt as though a worm had slithered into her gut. Was Michael really Raphael's friend? The question jumped into her mind and refused to settle.

Audrey glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. There was something conspiring about his attitude, a hint of the secretive. "Uh, I'm not sure," she began, tugging at a strand of her hair. "I'm not-"

"I am telling you that you do not have to stay here with Raphael," Michael said. He was sitting on the very edge of his chair now, his knees almost touching the bed. "I am telling you that I can take you away, back to your own kind, if you wish it."

"Oh." Audrey's mouth popped open. The worm in her gut had curled itself into a knot and she began to feel a bit nauseous. She wasn't quite sure what she wanted to say, but she was amazed when she realized that she hadn't jumped at the opportunity for escape. It wasn't like she had been imprisoned in the first place, right? Raphael, after all, had only been trying to help in her rather messed up way. She'd only be trying to help….

The front door to the cabin opened with a protesting squeal of rusty hinges. _Raphael_, Audrey thought, slightly disappointed that the somber angel had come back so soon, although Michael had proved himself to be a poor conversationalist.

She dropped her eyes to her lap and picked at several of the loose threads on the comforter. Her arms were sore but it felt good to finally do something with her hands, even if it wasn't exactly productive. Ever since she was a child, Audrey had always kept her fingers busy. Her mom used to call them mischievous little hands, hands that liked to pluck flower petals and pick up tiny stones and tie complicated knots in her shoelaces, which could never be undone. When she had gotten older, Audrey found that her nimble fingers adapted well to sketching and she was an avid drawer, a secret, wannabe artist who pretended that creativity was dumb when she was with her friends, but kept a pad of paper in her desk at home nonetheless.

Smiling tensely, she traced the outline of stitches on the blue blanket, imagining the round slopes of a snow-covered mountain or the soft curve of a woman's face. She almost wished she had her pencils and sketch pad now. After all, there was certainly no shortage of interesting subjects.

Raphael's footsteps sounded outside the bedroom door and Audrey heard Michael rising, the whicker chair creaking as he maneuvered carefully in the tight space.

"You are early," Michael said and there was something different about his tone of voice that she couldn't quite peg, an edge of gruffness that was not present whenever he spoke to her.

Heavy boots paraded over the wooden floorboards and there was a tense silence that made Audrey feel uncomfortable. A winter breeze blew in through the open window, fresh and clean and with a touch of chilling frost.

And the cold carried over into the voice that spoke next. It was a quiet rumble, not Raphael's fluting tone. A herald of thunder and trumpets. Of the end of the world. Of broken glass and the blacktop. Of blood on pavement…

"Has Raphael returned yet?"

Audrey froze, her fingertips feeling like icicles as she pressed them against her palms. In an instant, her whole world seemed to shrink and her vision narrowed and there were tiny black spots dancing before her eyes accompanied by bursts of rude, dizzying color.

And she realized, with a jolt of wild sickness and fear, that it was _him_. The monster in the closet. The huntsman. The frightening specter that had haunted her day and night since the accident. He was the reckoning. He was death. He was sharpened feathers and screams and her blood spilled on the tar.

_Gabriel._

At first, she didn't want to look at him. The young girl within her came alive, along with the old instinct to pull the blankets over her head and squeeze her eyes shut in an attempt to forget all the inherent scariness of the real world.

Audrey could feel his presence, dark shadow that it was, and her flesh crawled. She was revolted and she was sick and she was frightened, so horribly frightened that she thought she might only be able to sit there dumbly, a horror-struck rabbit awaiting the hunter, her heart pounding. Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.

"Audrey." Michael put his hand on her shoulder and the weight of his palm was heavy. It pressed down on her body until she felt lopsided, her right side dipping closer towards the bed. "Audrey, it's all right."

And she didn't know why, she couldn't possibly fathom why, but she got angry then. Real angry. Maybe it was his patronizing tone. Maybe it was because he assumed that she was scared. Maybe she was just tired of having all those angels hovering around her, treating her like she was some doll or toy, an amusing pastime, but inconsequential nonetheless.

Audrey's nimble little fingers tightened into fists and she shrugged Michael's hand off her shoulder, ignoring his surprised gasp.

"Audrey?" The angel reached for her again, but she turned on him like a rabid dog, showing her teeth.

That's when she saw him. Gabriel. He was standing just inside the door, his great, brutish body seeming so out of place in the small room. His face, which had long been blurred by memory, was now clearly defined and she was surprised to see that he had a sort of quiet grace about him. The ferocity and brutality that had defined Gabriel for her were somehow muted and he looked almost, he looked almost…cowed. Chastised. Nervous.

_Like Raphael_, Audrey thought at once. _God, he's so much like Raphael._

But the similarities ended there and she found it was so much easier to hate Gabriel. Raphael was helpless and ever so slightly bumbling. Gabriel was deliberate. And he was, he was…

"You're a monster," she said, her eyes boring into his face even though he wasn't looking at her. "I can't believe you have the fucking nerve to come back here."

Audrey wasn't sure, but she thought she saw the corner of his mouth dip down, a frown causing his lips to tighten. Michael immediately stepped between them and his expression was appeasing, although Audrey knew he was only humoring her.

"Please," he said, trying to lay his hand on her shoulder even though she flinched away from him. "I am so sorry to have upset you, Audrey. I want you to understand-"

"I don't need to understand, I want _him_ to understand," she ground out, her fragile little body filling with an intoxicating strength as she spoke. It had been a long time since she had felt so powerful, so confident and that it came now with the added edge of terror spurred her on to more defiance. She might be physically weak, she might be broken, she might be destined to spend her lifetime not being able to walk, but she wasn't going to be pacified.

Audrey knew she had a right to be angry. She had a right to hate them all, for their unjust intrusion into her life, which hadn't been perfect, but had belonged to her. She was going to take it back. It was hers, Godammit, yes, _hers. _And she was going to fight them, she was going to fight them all if she had to and him especially.

"He needs to know," Audrey shouted over Michael's shoulder, straining to get a good look at Gabriel who still kept his eyes on the floor. "I want him to know that I'm not scared of him and I think he's horrible. You left me there to die, you miserable bastard! You disgusting piece of shit! Is that why you won't look at me now? Huh? How come you won't _fucking_ look at me?"

Her voice was raised and cracking and shrill, but Audrey didn't care. She screamed through the pain and the numbness, alike. She screamed through her dad dying and her mom getting two bullets she didn't deserve. She screamed through broken glass and screeching brakes and the pavement, the pavement that had her blood on it.

"Audrey!" Michael grabbed both her shoulders now and she knew he was trying to restrain her.

She twisted in his grasp, although his fingers were like steel and she was reminded of just how many bruised ribs she had every time she tried to jerk away from him.

"Look at me!" she demanded of Gabriel, who still hovered in the doorway. "Look at me!"

And he did. He raised his eyes and Audrey was scared when she saw them, because they were sad, they were sad like Raphael's.

So very sad.

"Audrey," he said her name quietly, his voice quiet and, she felt, very nearly reluctant. "I am sorry."

And there was nothing she could do then. Her power, her denial and defiance, were stripped away and she was left bare. Naked. The little rabbit without its prized pelt.

Audrey didn't want him to be sorry. It wasn't fair. He needed to play by the rules of the game. He needed to the monster that she could hate. He needed to be unrepentant.

But Gabriel was sorry and he was very sad. Keeping his eyes on her, the lines around his mouth deepening as his lips pulled into a grave frown, the angel spoke to her, not in the voice of the holy herald, the bringer of the end times and the final reckoning of man, but in a voice that was almost…human.

"I am not here to hurt you, Audrey," Gabriel said intently, a slight sigh softening his words. "I am here to help you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thanks so much for reading! If you have the time, please, please review. Feedback means the world to me and I truly cherish all the reviews I receive.

In the next chapter, Raphael's sudden return sparks extreme tension between the three angels. Audrey learns the shocking truth behind Raphael and Gabriel's relationship. Chapter nine is in the works and should be posted soon. Until then, take care and be well!


	9. Chapter Nine Drowning

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter nine of "Rebirth". As always, I would like to thank everyone who read the last installment, including those who reviewed, **saichick, savyleec **and **Farren Ouro**. Thank you all so much! I do hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Nine Drowning**

It was strange, Audrey realized, that she couldn't take her eyes off him. Before she couldn't look at him, but now he drew her attention in a morbid sort of way. Her curiosity was vicious and she stared at Gabriel openly, both unable and unwilling to disguise her intrigue. She knew that he probably didn't like to be gawked at. She knew that he was probably getting pissed off. She knew that she was definitely making him uncomfortable. But he really deserved, Audrey thought. He really should feel ill at ease around her, considering…considering all that he had done and all that he had tried to do and all that she hated him for.

It was easy for him to see her hate when she stared at him. It was easy for him to see that she was unforgiving and unrepentant in her rage. It was easy for him to see that she was not afraid of him, not scared of him any more.

And Audrey vowed then and there, as she sat propped up in her bed, her body half-broken and her spirit fading, that she wouldn't ever be scared of him again.

"Never," she muttered, keeping her head turned in Gabriel's direction. She hoped he had heard her. She hoped he knew.

But to her surprise, the angel had actually retreated a little, leaving her bedside to return to the living room. Because her door was open, Audrey could just about glimpse him sitting hunched over the couch, his wings held awkwardly behind him, his knees pressed up against the wooden chest that also served as a coffee table.

It was strange to see him so quiet now, so passive. His huge body, his muscular arms and towering frame and long, lean legs seemed built for action. But Gabriel was still. Tamed, almost. Audrey couldn't exactly picture him as a monster anymore. Instead, she thought he kind of looked like a lion…a lion without his handsome, royal mane. A lion disgraced. Stripped bare. Shamed.

For a moment, Audrey wondered what he was in fact thinking. And she wondered why he looked sad.

Sad like Raphael. Too sad.

Audrey shook the thought from her mind, which was erring dangerously towards the sympathetic. Grudgingly, she ripped her attention away from Gabriel and focused on Michael who was still seated next to her.

"You don't have to look so nervous," she said, taking in his tense features, his bunched up, frowning mouth. "I'm done freaking out."

Michael nodded. "That's good-"

"For now," Audrey added, tacking on the sentiment with her usual snotty grace.

Michael lowered his chin as he observed her. "I'm sorry Gabriel upset you by coming here," he said.

"Whatever," Audrey mumbled, eager to have her hysteria glossed over in favor of cool indifference.

Michael lifted his eyebrows. "But I think you should know, I was the one who asked him to visit. He came because I told him to."

_Figures_, Audrey thought. She was already beginning to suspect that Michael wasn't exactly the most open angel. The vague suggestion of some ulterior motive clung to him and it was hard to ignore. That damaged her ideal of him, but she tried to take it all in stride. There was, after all, a small, naïve part of her that still believed she could outsmart them.

"We are here to help you, Audrey," Michael said, even though she thought his assurances fell flat. "We came for your sake…and for Raphael's."

Audrey picked at a loose thread on the blanket, trying not to let her concern show. She wasn't exactly sure why Raphael needed their help and although she hated to admit it, the other angel's absence had begun to bother her. It was strange, really, considering she didn't think much of Raphael. Her incompetence was pathetic, but she had somehow become familiar to Audrey and there was safety in the recognizable.

Chewing on her lip, she tried her very best not look pouty when she finally addressed Michael. "I don't think I understand," she said. "Why exactly do we need your help? Are you a better healer than her?"

Gabriel made a harsh noise from somewhere off in the living room.

Michael rolled his shoulders tensely. "No," he said, "this isn't about healing, at least not directly."

"Semantics, Michael," Gabriel said. His voice was noticeably gruff. "You'll confuse the girl. Be clear."

Audrey stopped picking at the thread when she heard him reference her. She was irked by his casual tone and it bothered her to think that he wasn't quite so troubled being around her as she wanted him to be.

"My name is Audrey," she called back to him. "Why can't you use it?"

"I know your name," Gabriel replied, all the softness gone from his voice. He seemed rather annoyed.

"Audrey, listen to me," Michael broke in. He was leaning forward in his chair, trying to block her view of the living room. "Gabriel is right, I should be clear with you. We are here because we are concerned for you and we are concerned for Raphael."

"Is she related to you or something?" Audrey asked spitefully. She knew very well that she was derailing him.

Michael ran his fingers over his mouth. "No," he said, "not exactly. But she is very dear to us."

Another grunt from Gabriel. Audrey and Michael both ignored him.

"You know, she's talked about you guys a bit," Audrey added. She felt that she was beginning to control the conversation and that filled her with sense of delayed satisfaction. "She said she was angry at you two and that she had run away. Is that true?"

To her surprise, Michael actually looked relieved. "You understand," he said, his words riding on a sigh. "I'm so glad."

"Understand?" Audrey tried to push herself off the pillows, but her shoulders ached and she only managed to flounder around a bit. "Is that really it? Is that what's going on here? Raphael is so royally pissed off that she ran away?"

"In the absolute simplest terms, yes," Michael replied. "Although I wouldn't say she ran away."

"But she left," Gabriel interrupted. Audrey could hear him shifting around, the couch creaking. "I believe that's clear enough."

"Yes." Michael waved his hand dismissively. "She left. Raphael left to come take care of you, Audrey. She wasn't asked to. She wasn't ordered to, but she did so-"

"I know," Audrey cut him off abruptly. "She already told me that. She said I was a distraction for her, that I was something for her to do while she was here."

"Her insight surprises me," Gabriel muttered coldly. "It shows you, Michael, that Raphael knows exactly what she is doing. There can be no excuse made for her now."

Michael looked to the side, his face sagging under the weight of resignation. "I understand," he said. "We will do what is necessary, if…" He trailed off weakly, leading Audrey to doubt his conviction.

"Do what?" she prodded.

Michael raised his eyebrows. "Audrey, I want you to realize that you have a choice in this."

"Fine."

"You are not trapped."

"I know."

"We will help you."

"With what?" she demanded, her impatience flaring. For all Michael's talk of being clear and direct, he certainly was beating around the bush a lot. "Can you just get to it already?"

Michael nodded. "You should know," he said, "that I have found a place for you to stay. There is a settlement of human survivors outside of Seattle. From what I can tell, they may have a few doctors with them, or medical personnel. I can take there now, if you would like. You do not have to stay here with Raphael. In fact, I think it would be best if you left."

A hot flush streaked over Audrey's cheeks as he spoke and she lowered her head. Her fingers found the loose thread again and she wound it around her thumb, letting the string dig into her flesh. She didn't know what to say, really. The idea wasn't exactly appealing to her. Going to live with strangers, with people she didn't know, who might not even want to help her or protect her or take care of her, was not an attractive option. She imagined Michael dropping her off at some horrible refugee camp like she was a baby in a basket, just leaving her there and walking away. Leaving her all alone.

Raphael, at least, had always been there for her. And as much as Audrey hated to admit it, her constant presence was reassuring. Comforting. She didn't know if she was ready to let go of all that Raphael had given her, or all that she had tried to give.

Audrey wondered what would happen if she told Michael no.

"Can I think about it for a while?" she asked, some sudden shyness making it difficult to look at him.

Michael considered her gravely. "Not for long," he said at last. "We do not have time on our side."

"But why does everything have to be rushed?" she questioned.

Michael hesitated only for an instant. "Because Raphael may be reluctant to let you go."

A sudden gust of wind made the curtains flutter through the open window. Audrey wrapped her hands around her elbows, hating the chill. Both Michael and Gabriel looked up.

"She's here," Gabriel muttered tersely from where he sat on the couch.

"Early," Michael replied.

"And we have yet to decide-"

"It does not matter." Michael rose and crept over to the open bedroom door, poking his head out into the hallway. The wide curve of his wings blocked most of Audrey's view and she leaned forward slightly, hoping to catch a glimpse of the front door. There was some terrible strain in the moment and with each passing breath, the tension built, starting in her stomach and rising up to her ribs. Up, up, like a roller coaster being pulled along a track to the top of the drop. Up, up, up. Audrey felt it in her throat, that smothering uncertainty. Without thinking, she let the feeling overwhelm her, if only because it was so much better than the constant numbness.

She sat on the bed and counted her heartbeats, which seemed to pulse in unison to Raphael's heavy footsteps. Her boots sounded on the porch, one step, two steps, three, four.

At the very last second, Michael turned to Gabriel and offered him a look that was nothing short of imploring.

"Please," he said, "be kind to her."

And although Audrey's knowledge of the angels was admittedly limited, she was surprised to see how offended Gabriel appeared at the mere suggestion…and how utterly nervous they both looked.

The screen door creaked as it swung open, the rusty whine echoing throughout the otherwise silent house. Raphael stepped inside, her dark hair fallen over her shoulders, windswept. There was a ruddy flush on her usually pale cheeks.

"It is cold," she said, shaking her wings until she looked like a dog trying to dry off after a bath. "And raining. Michael, I'm going to start a fire-"

She paused, one foot posed over the straw mat by the door, her eyes catching hold of Gabriel who was still sitting on the couch.

And oh, Audrey couldn't help it. She felt sorry for Raphael then, sorrier than she even felt for herself, which was saying a lot.

Her face dropped when she saw Gabriel, it just dropped and the pretty color in her cheeks vanished, leaving her skin ashen, the hue of yellowed paper. She looked askance, her profile sharp, and even at a distance, Audrey could see the veins in her neck tightening. Raphael swallowed once, then twice.

"Gabriel," she said, her voice full, as though she were trying to talk past her tears or a mouth full of words that she wanted to get rid of.

And Gabriel stood, his towering height not quite so impressive when matched against Raphael's lanky form. The way he held himself, his knees loose and weak, reminded Audrey of her father almost when he'd take on that cajoling manner meant to appease her furious mother.

"Dear Raphael," he said.

The room was still. Audrey could swear that everyone, including herself, was holding their breath. But why?

Raphael's head jerked around and she looked straight past Gabriel and Michael into the bedroom. Her eyes were hard. Diamonds. Diamonds that were dull, not clear. Not resilient. A shadow of acceptance veiled her expression.

"Sentiment," Raphael said, the muscles in her jaw clenched, "does not suit you, Gabriel."

She brushed passed him, her feathers tinkling lightly, chimes caught in an errant breeze. Gabriel followed her with his gaze as she strode purposefully into the room, sidestepping a somber Michael until she was standing right by the bed.

A creeping sense of awkwardness made Audrey squirm when she looked at the angel. It was uncomfortable, having the focus of the entire house suddenly placed on her. And for some reason, she couldn't help but feel that she had done something unfair, something bad to Raphael. Her tongue had been loose. She had talked freely with Michael. She had said things that she shouldn't have.

Betrayal, yes, that was the word. Audrey felt as though she had betrayed Raphael, who now stood before her, rainwater dripping from the coiled tendrils of her hair and down her nose.

And the angel most know it. Why else would she suddenly seem so grave, so rigidly intent? Audrey wished she could sink into the bed. She wished that the soft mattress would open her up and swallow her whole. Guilt, she decided, was very inconvenient.

But Raphael was the Healer yet, the diamonds in her eyes softening. Her air deftly shifted from acerbic to maternal and for once, Audrey took solace in her nurturing. The tender lines of care around the angel's mouth reminded her of her mother almost. _Almost. _

"How are you?" Raphael asked. Ignoring both Michael and Gabriel who had rudely crowded in behind her, she brushed her hand over Audrey's brow, her palm expertly searching for fever.

"I'm fine," Audrey said. She felt the desire to appease her. A small part of her realized that in this moment, it was Raphael who needed to be comforted. Surrendering some of her typical selfishness, she offered the angel a small, nervous smile. "I was able to sit up this morning. You were right about that soup, I guess. I feel much stronger than yesterday."

For an instant, true happiness rushed over Raphael's face. Her lips twitched and she looked girlish, a child pleased by some sudden surprise.

"That is good," she breathed, one damp hand fastened over Audrey's shoulder. "That is-"

"Raphael, you cannot truly mean to ignore me." Gabriel was standing inside the bedroom door now, his posture stiff.

Raphael kept her back to him and Michael both, but she was cornered, this Audrey realized. Michael had lured her in and Gabriel had sprung the trap. Their plotting had been meticulous, their execution flawless.

Suddenly, Audrey knew that she wasn't the only one being toyed with here…

A spray of rain fell through the open window, wetting the bed and the blankets and bringing with it the heady scent of pine. Of lake water and sand.

"A storm," Raphael muttered. She rounded the bed and promptly pulled the window closed. The pane hit the sill with a definitive snap. "I saw a storm coming in over the mountains."

"You are cognizant enough to still be poetic," Michael said, speaking for the first time. There was a nasty note of goading in his voice.

Raphael turned on him, the bull prodded by a spear, but she directed her pent-up annoyance at Gabriel instead.

"I did not," she said in a voice that was straining to be passive, "expect to see you here. Michael made no mention-"

"It was the only way," Gabriel interrupted.

"I told you not to visit," Raphael continued steadily, "you have always been respectful of my wishes in the past."

Gabriel folded his arms across his broad chest. "Of your whims."

Raphael raised her head, rearing back. The diamonds were in her eyes again.

Michael threw up his hands. "Wait," he insisted. "We will not do this with anger. Yes, Gabriel knew he was not welcome here, but it was the only way."

"I understand," Raphael replied and Audrey had to give her credit. She really was trying to stay calm, fighting her righteous rage and obvious offense. But that didn't make things any better. Somehow, it made things worse.

"You do not understand," Gabriel countered readily with a sudden flash of temper. "If you did, Raphael, you would not dare to lay the blame at the feet of others. You would be compassionate-"

"Again, you call me cruel," Raphael said, flinging her hand at him.

"I have not called you cruel."

"No, but the implication is quite enough-"

"But you _are_ cruel. You are wretched. I recognize nothing in you that I used to hold dear-"

Raphael flinched, her face screwing up. "That," she breathed, her eyes moist, "_that_ was cruel, Gabriel." She seemed to be on the verge of tears.

Audrey looked away, unwilling to witness her weeping. _I'm in the middle of this_, she thought, all too aware of the desperation that rattled about within her. It was terrible, having those three awful creatures standing around her. She realized then that there was absolutely nothing redeeming about the angels, nothing at all. And the true horror came not in their foreign nature, but in the sudden recognition that they were so very like the people she knew. Like her mom. Like her dad. Like both of them when they would wake Audrey up in the middle of the night with their arguing, Mom always screaming, Dad defiant.

_I just want to know, Howard. I just want to know, are you fucking her? _

_Sandra, if you say that every time we go to the party and some woman talks to me-_

_Don't put this on me. Don't make me seem paranoid. You're not that hard to catch. I've done it before._

_Christ almighty, I thought we were past this. I thought we…_

When she was little, Audrey would pile her pillows over her head and stop her ears with her fingers. But when she got older, she had learned to cope in other ways, mostly through rebellion and hostility. Through older boyfriends and cutting class to smoke a joint. Through walks down by the golf course, down to the lake, which wasn't that deep, but deep enough…

Audrey shut her eyes. There was no coping now.

A scream had built up inside her and she wanted to let it out, but she was too proud for that. With difficultly, she buried her fear, that sickly sort of terror that made her feel so inadequate and so young and so very unaware of what was going on in the world around her. Audrey hated to feel out of the loop. She hated to be on the fringe of things. It was no fun being left out in the dark. It was no fun hiding in the hallway outside her parents bedroom to listen to them fight when the outcome promised to be dubious.

Audrey knew she was in the thick of things now. Somehow, she had been dragged into a mess that was even greater than her parents fucked up marriage. The tone of this conflict was old, stale. It had the feel of something ancient, something that might even be beyond her comprehension although she would try to understand it.

Audrey glanced at the three angels, her monstrous guardians who did not tread softly by her bedside, but dragged their clamor and their war right into her life. Gabriel was still perched by the door and Michael beside him. Raphael hovered nervously by the window, her fluttery movements suggesting a insect trapped behind glass.

The strain of the moment was too delicate and Audrey was determined to break it.

_Damn the torpedoes_, she thought, bracing herself for the storm Raphael spoke of. It was already coming over the mountains. It was already dropping rain into the lake.

"This isn't right," Audrey said, directing her accusation to any one of them that might be listening. She tried to keep the volume of her voice low like Raphael's, a steady current that suggested strength instead of wavering uncertainty. But she was just a child still and her words warbled a bit in the face of such unfathomable disruption. The cosmos were being thrown askew. The world had fallen off its axis.

"This isn't fair," she continued, "what you're doing to me."

Michael turned his head to look at her, although Audrey didn't care for his expression. It wasn't paternal anymore. It was…calculating.

"Audrey," he began, "you must excuse us-"

But Gabriel was quick to interrupt him. "A sorry day it is," he muttered, "when even the human sees our misery and pities us."

"That is your fault!" Raphael added.

"Hey!" Audrey protested immediately, her voice bubbling nervously in the back of her throat. She grimaced, realizing just how shrill she sounded. Both Raphael and Gabriel were staring at her now. "_You_ dragged me into this. I have no idea what the _fuck_ is going on here and that's wrong. It's selfish. All of you are so fucking selfish. You think you're totally and completely above me, well, you're full of shit. Raphael's the one who brought me into this thing, but you all owe me the truth. You can't just plop me down in the middle of your war or whatever this is and expect me to sit here blind and dumb. Do you really think I'm that stupid? Do you really think I'm not worth more than that? If you do, then you're all fucking monsters…animals. Or maybe one of you actually has the balls to explain this to me, cause I'm sure as hell not going let the three of your carry on like this without knowing what's going on. You hear me? I'm not asking you, I'm telling you how it's going to be and I have as much of a right to decide what happens here as you do."

Her voice petered out and although she had much more in her, Audrey fell silent. It was what she had wanted to tell her parents all along, but it came too late. Sitting back in bed, she felt awfully useless. There was, she realized, absolutely no gravity in her words. Sure, she could scream and curse and hold her breath until her face turned blue, but no one ever listened. No one ever listened, not even when she'd go out at night to take walks by the lake, which wasn't that deep, but just deep enough…

Audrey looked up at the angels from underneath the stringy veil of her hair. Michael was closest to her and she challenged him, threw her chin out and tried her best to seem bold, although she was almost certain he didn't care what she had to say. That bothered Audrey, because she felt that all she had seen in him was false. At least Raphael and Gabriel didn't try to hide behind some thin lie. Raphael was honest and Gabriel was honest and they were what they were. Audrey could hate them for that, but she could also hold some mild respect for them, if only because neither of them had stooped so low as to manipulate her.

Michael, on other hand, was a different story. What Audrey had seen as sympathy in him now came across as dangerous. He wasn't relatable so much as he was tactful. He was like a musician, striking all the right chords, molding sounds and vibrations until he had his symphony. This situation, she knew, had been crafted. Composed.

Michael knew exactly what he was doing. Gabriel and Raphael did not.

She wasn't really surprised, then, when he agreed with her.

"You are right, Audrey," he said, his bearing losing that sharp edge he had directed towards Raphael in favor of something that was more subdued, patronizing. "We have treated you unfairly. We have-"

"You're just repeating my words," Audrey jumped in, eager to be one step ahead of him, "you're not actually answering my question."

"But you have proven my point," Michael said, effortlessly bypassing her protests. "I wanted Raphael to see how unnecessary this situation is, how unhappy you are here-"

Audrey uttered a low cry of shock, but it was too late. The insinuation had already reached Raphael and she covered her face with a shaking hand.

Gabriel picked up on the cue and before Audrey could even form a thought in her mind, he let loose, driving home the attack Michael himself had so carefully employed.

"You are delusional," he told Raphael. "You have not helped this child. She is an excuse, a crutch for your own misguided anger towards me and yes, you are misguided. You see now that this girl has no desire to be here. She does not want you, Raphael. She told Michael and she told me."

Raphael dropped her hand from her face, her skin blotchy. There was something awfully fragile about her in that moment, something that went beyond her bulky armor and heavy wings and struck at her heart.

And then Audrey saw it, yes, she finally saw it.

There, there beat Raphael's heart. There lived her soul. She was real in her torment, in her exquisite and unrelenting sorrow. And Audrey had been blind not to see it. She had been wrong.

And Raphael had only tried to help her.

A rush of instinct overwhelmed her. It was the reaction of a child reaching out to a mother, a bond that was primal but Audrey knew had existed all along. At the last minute, at the very last minute, she decided to side with Raphael. Forget Michael and his manipulation. Forget Gabriel, who was a monster.

"Raphael," she began, eager to deliver the angel from her insecurity.

But she was weak. She was just a girl. She was just a pawn in their game, which was so much bigger and so much more powerful than she could ever be.

Michael stepped forward, moving in front of the bed until he blocked her view of Raphael, effectively cutting the slender thread of communication between them.

"No more secrets," he said authoritatively, "and no more games. You know why we have come here, Raphael. Gabriel and I mean to take Audrey back to her own people, where she can be cared for properly. You cannot stay here with her. You have done enough. Raphael, you must realize…it would be best for you to come home with us. No more denial. No more…running away."

Audrey heard Raphael moving about, pushing away from Gabriel and Michael both, although the room was cramped and there was little space to accommodate the immensity of her huge wings.

"You make me seem unstable," she said, her tone miraculously calm.

Audrey was stunned. While Michael and Gabriel seemed intent on ratcheting up all the broiling anger and resentment, Raphael seemed to be doing everything in her power to dilute the hostility. Her effort was valiant, but futile and Audrey felt her sympathy for the angel double. Perhaps she had been wrong to view Raphael as hopeless. As soulless. This hint of resilience was new and it gave her something to cling to. Never mind Michael and his jibberish about faith. Raphael seemed more founded in her convictions than any of them.

There was, Audrey recognized, some merit to stubbornness after all.

Pushing herself up off the pillows as best she could, she ignored the jarring sense of pain that curled around her bruised ribs as she tried to look past Michael's lean body.

"Raphael," she said once more. "Raphael, I never said I wanted to leave. You're putting words into my mouth, Michael. I never said that!"

But she was being ignored again and that fueled her fear. The utter lack of worth behind her own opinion was terrifying. She was the little rabbit in a world of hunters, the puppet playing its part in a pantomime.

Audrey forced her fear to turn into frustration, into anger. Reaching forward, she tried to grab the edge of Michael's hand, but missed, her arm swatting miserably past his wing.

"Listen to me!" she demanded, but their disregard was stony. Complete.

Raphael seemed to have forgotten that her patient existed at all. She was trying to pace, but her movement was restricted. Audrey watched as she shifted her weight uselessly, trapped between the bed and the window. Rain hit the glass pane now, sounding like a muted hiss. Raphael's wings brushed up against the curtains.

"You can take the girl," she said, "but that holds no bearing…it is of no consequence. I want to be alone. Of all that you have ever asked of me, may I not have this?"

"No," Gabriel's reply was so definitive, so firm and unyielding that Audrey was daunted. Her heart beat a nervous little staccato in her chest and she felt a dizzying rush as the blood raced into her head.

She was reminded then, of that single moment, that instant in her life which would live in infamy only because she had thought it was her last. Gabriel coming through the door at the diner. The light, the blinding, all-seeing, all-knowing light. It was holy wrath at its purest, deepest level. It was all that was unforgiving and unquestionable. It was fate manifested in the physical. It was the end, the uncompromising end.

She thought that Gabriel looked like that now as he stood before Raphael, as his face held that solemn, sober promised of retribution. Of punishment. The lion was in his glory again, handsome mane and all.

And Raphael, she must've been made of stronger stuff than Audrey had ever dreamed of. Looks were deceiving and the angel, despite her frailty and her soft healer's hands and her incompetence, seemed just as unbending.

In an instant, the room narrowed and it became just Gabriel and just Raphael. Audrey knew that she had been right to feel insignificant, because this was not her fight. It was theirs.

"I am not coming home," Raphael said, placing emphasis on each word, drawing out the syllables in a voice that was no longer fluting, but hard. The consistency of her tone was unyielding and she stood squared off against Gabriel, face to face and she did not even flinch.

God, she did not even flinch!

Gabriel's nostrils dilated ever so slightly, a faint blush of color rising to his cheeks. Audrey couldn't tell if he was hurt or embarrassed or really, really angry. It was, she surmised, probably a combination of all three volatile emotions, which was enough to make her want to shrink into herself and hide.

Gabriel's top lip quivered a bit and he almost seemed to smile. But it was a terrible smile, the snarl of a beast, of a lion, and Audrey thought he was dangerously close to losing his restraint.

And what would happen then?

Gabriel looked at Raphael, his eyes widening when he raised his eyebrows. "You are my wife," he said simply. "Our place is together."

The silence that followed was ringing, although Audrey quickly realized that she was the only one who was shocked. She looked at Raphael and saw the grim resignation on her face. She looked at Gabriel and saw his grim satisfaction. She looked at Michael and saw that he was not grim at all, but disappointed.

He was chewing on the corner of his mouth, the movement convulsive, his chin jerking slightly. "It is wrong," he cautioned, "to do this in anger. Gabriel, you know better."

Surprisingly, it was Raphael who lost her restraint first, her resolve coming undone in a great flourish of burning rage and unshed tears. "He doesn't know any better," she spat. "And that is his sin…and yours, Michael. Ignorance. The both of you!"

"Mindless accusations," Gabriel interrupted, throwing one of his large hands into the air. "She means to cover for her own insecurities. You are lost, Raphael. And it is sad to witness. We are taking the girl and you are coming home. Enough. My patience is useless and I have no desire to indulge this insane flight of fancy any longer."

He took a step forward, closing the space between him and the bed with one easy stride. It was only then that Audrey realized that he was coming for her. She was not exactly frightened to see him advance, but rather, experienced a surge of cool indifference, as if she were watching the entire scene from outside of her body. A good part of her mind only registered disgust and disappointment. Something of her childhood fantasies, she knew, had been destroyed that morning, torn down by these horrible creatures who were not the least bit angelic. And it was bewildering to have that last illusion removed, to have the scales fall from her eyes and to understand that even Michael, even Gabriel, even Raphael, could be hateful, could be hurtful, and could, in turn, be wounded.

They were just like her. Just like her mom and dad who would spend hours locked in their bedroom arguing where they thought Audrey couldn't hear them.

Sitting there, she tasted the bitterness of dashed hope, because there truly was nothing bigger and better out there. Just misery. Just the same old anger and resentment And it sucked. It really, really sucked.

Gabriel tried to make his way over to the bed and Audrey knew he was going to grab her, she knew that she was going to feel his arms wrap around her bruised body and she would be just a rag doll in what was turning out to be a celestial tug-of-war. It made her sad. It made her very sad.

Michael stepped forward at the last moment though, one arm outstretched to block his brother's progress.

"We agreed," he insisted and for the first time, Audrey recognized some notable heat in his voice. "We agreed that we wouldn't do this by force."

"There is no other way," Gabriel replied. And he reached for Audrey.

Raphael emitted some small noise, a wounded little bleat and in a flurry of movement, she tried to stop Gabriel.

"Wait!"

Audrey saw her pulling at Gabriel's thick arm, her hands curled around his bicep. But he pivoted unexpectedly and the motion was enough to throw Raphael back. She tripped, she lost her balance and she crashed into the closest, her large wings knocking one of the narrow doors clean off its hinges. There was the sound of splintering wood. Raphael was on her knees, struggling to her feet.

Gabriel stood over her.

Audrey's heart stopped. Her breath caught in her throat, freezing against her cold lips. Ice shot through her veins and cooled her blood and she became aware, all at once, of the terrible numbness, of the dead weight of her broken body and the heaviness that was pressing down on her, pressing down like black water.

It was getting into her lungs and she couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe, because the lake at the golf course wasn't deep, but it was deep enough…

And she went there all the time when her parents used to fight. When they would scream and curse. When her mom would cry.

Was Raphael crying now?

Audrey blinked her eyes. She thought she saw tears on the angel's cheeks and that terrified her.

"No," the word slipped off her tongue. It was a whisper, not enough for them to hear, but it resonated within Audrey. "No," she echoed, thinking of her mom and her dad and all the times she had wanted them to stop, but they never did.

They never did.

"NO!" Audrey finally screamed, releasing what had been inside her, the hurt she had steadily nursed from childhood on, the pain that wouldn't be appeased and that she couldn't silence unless she screamed. Unless she finally screamed.

Sitting bolt upright, she threw her weight forward, but overbalanced. Audrey had been closer to the edge of the bed than she realized and with little control over her limbs, she toppled easily to the floor, taking the sheets and the blankets and the pillow with her, knocking into the nightstand and sending the half-empty tea cup flying. The ceramic shattered when it hit the floor and Audrey shattered too, a bolt of electric pain shooting up her chest and radiating through her ribs. Cold tea soaked her t-shirt and there were shards of ceramic under her palms, but still she tried to hoist herself up, still she tried.

"Leave her alone," Audrey sobbed, directing her weak challenge at Gabriel, who towered over her with such a look of incredulity she almost felt ridiculous.

"Audrey," Michael began, but it was only Raphael who moved to help her. Raphael the Healer. Raphael, the consummate mother.

"It's all right, Audrey, it's all right," she soothed, crouching by the girl, the broken pieces of ceramic crunching under her thick-soled boots. "Mind the shards, you'll cut yourself. Mind the shards."

"They're lying," Audrey hiccupped uselessly even as Raphael took her into her arms. "They're lying to you, Raphael. I never said that I wanted to leave here. I swear. I swear I never said that. I don't want to leave you. I don't want some strangers to take care of me. Please don't send me away. Please don't let them take me. Raphael, please."

The angel's arms fell slack around her body and for a moment, Audrey thought she was going to pull away. She was suddenly ashamed of her tears and her hysteria and the sharp, choking lump in her throat that she couldn't get rid of no matter how hard she tried.

Rubbing her hand over her face, she tried to inch away from Raphael, but was surprised when the angel tightened her hold. Her grip was firm and solid and Audrey found herself supported by a steadfast strength that was utterly unknown to her, but wonderful at the same time.

"You are staying," Raphael said simply. "And _they_ are leaving us."

Audrey shuddered at the tone of her voice, which brooked no argument. It was deep and slightly frayed, but firm.

Gabriel murmured something indistinct in response, but his words were lost. Raphael, however, apparently heard him, for she turned around to glare at him, at him…

_Her husband_, Audrey mused numbly. And the mere thought was so ridiculous she thought she might laugh right on through her tears.

"Enough," Raphael told him.

Gabriel's lip curled, although he did not look exactly angry. Only defeated, maybe. The poor, pathetic, old lion.

"Will you speak with me?" he asked her. "Alone?"

"No."

"Because you are frightened?" he prodded.

Raphael dropped her gaze. Her chin settled on top of her patient's head and when she spoke, Audrey could hear the words humming her throat. "Because," she said, "I recognize nothing in you that I used to hold dear."

And Gabriel was finished. He had absolutely nothing left.

Michael sighed, offering up the sentiment for him. "Very well," he said.

The two brothers moved towards the door and Audrey heard their boot heels trampling over the ceramic, grinding the shards to dust.

When they were nearly out into the hall, Raphael turned and glanced over her shoulder at them one last time. "It is broken beyond repair, I fear," she said.

Michael paused. His hand was braced on the knob. "Poetic," he mouthed and closed the door behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Poor Audrey! She's had the not so nice privilege of seeing Raphael, Gabriel and Michael at their absolute worst, which must be pretty awful. I do feel bad for her.

For this fic, I loosely based Raphael and Gabriel's marriage on a concept promoted by the 18th century philosopher and theologian, Emanuel Swedenborg. Swedenborg claimed to have conversations with angels and he stated that angels did marry, or that those who had been married in life became united in one soul as an angel.

However, I want to make it clear that this particular plot point is _not_ based in traditional Christian theology regarding the nature of angels. As written in Mark 12: 25-26, Jesus is quoted as saying "For when the dead rise to life, they will be like the angels in Heaven and they will not marry."

Therefore, Raphael and Gabriel's marriage is _not_ in any way supported by Christian doctrine, but rather, is entirely fictional.

Thanks so much for reading! If you have some free time, please leave me a review. I always get insanely happy whenever I receive feedback for this story. The next chapter is in the works and should be posted soon. Until then, take care and be well!


	10. Chapter Ten A Measure of Comfort

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter ten of "Rebirth". There's some much needed Audrey/Raphael mother/daughter bonding in this chapter, which I think is necessary after all the drama of the last installment. However, I assure you, the fluff will certainly not last. ;)

As always, I would like to thank all my fabulous readers and reviewers, **Farren Ouro, saichick, PhotoMunky, burning blossom **and **Anii**. I would also like to thank everyone who has added this story to their favorites/author alerts list so far. I do hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Ten A Measure of Comfort **

A couple of hours later, Audrey was tucked back into bed, a fresh cup of warm tea cradled in her hands and her aching shoulders supported by no less than three soft pillows. Raphael had gotten a fire going in the hearth in the living room and from her bed, Audrey could hear the quiet crackling of the logs, could smell the pungent perfume of woody smoke and charred ash. The storm had indeed come over the mountains, dropping a thick veil of grey over the daylight. The rain it brought was heavy and thin patterns of dribbling water soon formed on the windows. Audrey watched the trailing droplets, which to her, looked too much like tears.

And God, she absolutely _hated_ all that poetic crap.

Taking a careful sip of her tea, she tried to enjoy the moment for what it was. Cozy. Quiet. Comforting. But somehow, she had aged in the last few hours and all those little distractions that were so pleasing to her senses seemed stale. Audrey was not comforted. No, she was far, far from comforted. Resting safe and warm in her bed, she attempted to wrap her mind around all that happened, tried to understand the anger and bitterness and their words, which had been so terribly shocking.

_You are my wife. Our place is together._

Audrey took another drink of her tea, pressing her chilled fingertips against the new mug. She didn't know what to think, really. She didn't know what to think at all.

Perhaps, Audrey mused, the numbness itself wasn't so bad. When she was numb, she couldn't feel and when she couldn't feel, she didn't care. It was so much easier not to care, it was so much easier…

Couldn't she go back to being dead inside?

_Probably not_, Audrey told herself, thinking of Michael and how harsh he had been with Raphael, thinking of Gabriel, who really was a monster. She had to care now, whether she liked it or not. The proverbial Pandora's box had been opened and all sorts of ugly things had come flying out.

And Audrey knew she had to care, she knew she had to care because Raphael did.

The angel was currently crouched next to the bed, cleaning up the shards of the broken tea mug. The dry whisper of her whisk broom on the hardwood floor ruptured the otherwise benign silence that wrapped around the tiny cabin. Audrey glanced down at Raphael, saw her dark-haired head and the awkward way she held her wings and the small dustpan she maneuvered about, collecting the shards.

It was hard not to make the comparison, but she really thought the angel looked a bit like a pigeon cooing and strutting along some city sidewalk.

Audrey gulped her tea in order to cover her smile. Shit, it did feel good to smile again.

She felt as though she should say something to Raphael, although the moment wasn't exactly opportune. Ever since Michael and Gabriel had left, there had existed an unspoken truce between them. Audrey had given Raphael time to collect her thoughts and Raphael had given Audrey time to dry her tears and regain her composure. But now, the silence seemed exhausted, stretched to its breaking point.

Unfortunately, she did not know what to say, and without thinking, she let loose with the very first thing on her mind.

"Angels don't get married," Audrey said.

Raphael stopped her sweeping and looked up at her.

Audrey waited a minute and then said the second thing on her mind. "Please," she said, "please tell me that you're not really Gabriel's wife."

"Oh," Raphael said quietly and Audrey had a dreadful feeling that the angel was going to slip back into her usual, bumbling habits. The genuine warmth that had existed between them, the promise of some friendship and lasting bond, seemed like a weak memory to her now. She began to wonder if perhaps Raphael had only acted defensive in front of Gabriel and Michael. Perhaps, in truth, she really didn't give a rat's ass about Audrey. Perhaps she had only wanted to keep her patient with her because she knew it would piss off her husband.

_You can take the girl, but that holds no bearing…it is of no consequence. _

Raphael had said that, hadn't she? Audrey's heart sank, all the superficial comfort of the cozy room, the soft bed and the fire and the good cup of tea, left her. Her disenchantment was bitter and more potent than she ever thought it would be. Raphael probably didn't care for her…which meant that Audrey was completely alone in this.

But the angel surprised her yet, putting her poor faith to the test. With a quick movement, Raphael dumped the contents of her dustpan into a small garbage pail under the nightstand, a wry, half-smile giving her otherwise dull face some lively color.

"I do not wish to disappoint you," she said, "so perhaps I should not answer at all."

Audrey blinked, catching the mild humor in Raphael's voice. The angel's comments weren't even close to witty, but she could play off them. Audrey found a cheeky grin of her own. Her eyes twinkled as she stared at Raphael over her mug.

"I'm not disappointed, I'm just not sure I believe you," she said.

Raphael sighed, although the soft exhalation could have passed for a subdued laugh. She laid her broom and dustpan against the garbage pail, pushing up on her legs until she was out of her ungainly crouching position.

"May I sit?" she asked, gesturing at the bed.

Audrey looked doubtfully at the narrow mattress. "If you can fit without goring me with your wings."

"I shall try," Raphael said. There wasn't much promise in her voice.

Audrey knew that she herself couldn't scoot over, so she had to watch helplessly as Raphael attempted to perch on the bed. It took a few minutes for the angel to position herself properly and in the end, it was only the side of her right thigh that rested on the mattress, with her wings pointed safely towards the foot of the bed.

Audrey thought she must be very uncomfortable sitting like that, but Raphael didn't complain. She rarely seemed to complain.

"I suppose we ought to have a talk," she said, her hands splayed out on her lap. "You may think I have not paid any mind to your distress. You may think that I won't listen to you. But I will, Audrey. I want to listen to you…I want to help you. I heard what you said while Michael and Gabriel were here. You feel-"

"Put in the middle," Audrey contributed.

Raphael nodded. "And rightly so. This wasn't your choice. This wasn't your decision and that is unfair. Humans have free will. It is the gift our Father gave to you."

"You don't have to make things so complicated," Audrey said abruptly. She tried to tuck a strand of her tangled, unwashed hair behind her ear. The gesture was quick, jerky, not enough to disguise the inherent awkwardness she felt just then. It was strange, almost, realizing just how much Raphael understood her. Of course she was still bumbling. Of course she still seemed eternally bemused, but in that instant, Audrey had caught a glimmer of the ageless wisdom she had once recognized in Michael. Once….

"I just want to know what's going on," she said, trying desperately to cover for her own confusion. "That's all. That's it, really."

Raphael nodded. "I understand."

Silence stretched between them, disrupted only by the gentle patter of rain on the window and the low crackle of the fire Raphael had built in the living room hearth. Audrey drank the last of her tea, hoping to give the angel some time to decide what she wanted to say. But when Raphael remained quiet, she realized that the responsibility of broaching the subject had somehow been passed on to her.

_As usual_, Audrey thought. Fortunately, she was never one to be shy about things. In fact, her mother had often called her a bull in a china shop, trampling over everything and everyone until she had what she wanted.

Nonetheless, Audrey thought it would be best to restrain her careless tongue just then. They needed to ease into this conversation gently and she would have to be considerate. Respectful.

"All right," she said, rolling the still warm mug around in her palm, "I guess I want to know about you and Gabriel first. I'll admit, I don't know a lot about angels…except what they taught me in grammar school…but I never, ever heard of them getting married."

"Oh," Raphael repeated. When she nodded, Audrey had no choice but to continue on nervously.

"Remember that religion teacher I told you about?" she asked. "The one who was a real prick? Well, he used to talk about angels sometimes. He said what we saw in movies and on TV and in pictures wasn't, like, an accurate portrayal or something. He said angels were just messengers. He said they didn't really have to look like anything…that they didn't have to have wings or blond hair or wear white robes."

"I have wings," Raphael said and she seemed so earnest about it that Audrey had to smile.

"Yeah," she replied, taking in the sleek lines of Raphael's dark feathers. "But my teacher, he also said that angels weren't like us. They weren't like people…humans. Which means they don't have emotions, they don't feel like we feel. They're just…they're just like light. Formless. A presence, not an actual person. And so that's how I always thought of angels…not that I thought about them a lot. I never thought you'd be so-"

"Real?" Raphael offered.

"No." Audrey shook her head. "Like me."

Raphael considered her. Her expression, which was usually subdued, looked a bit more animated now, as if her argument with Gabriel and Michael had loosened her up somehow. Audrey thought she could actually catch a glimpse of what might have been a vibrant personality…beneath the sadness, of course. Beneath all the sadness.

And then she realized how wrong her prick of a religion teacher had been about so many, many things.

"You do feel, don't you?" she asked, a bit of uncertainty softening her voice. "You feel things just like I do. Sadness. Anger."

"Love," Raphael supplemented. "Yes, you are quite right. You're teacher, I'm afraid, was a bit off the mark. Angels are messengers, that is true. But we were also made to love, to feel emotion. Our Father wanted us to be compassionate, to care for your kind and for each other. And you must think of this, why would our Father teach us to love and then forbid the expression of love should it manifest itself? That would be cruel and our Father is not cruel."

"Yeah right," Audrey said before she could stop herself. She flinched when she finished speaking, knowing that her bull-in-the-china-shop tongue had probably led her right into trouble again.

Raphael, however, did not seem offended. "You say that now," she replied, "because you are ignorant. For so long you have eschewed God's love. You have avoided Him, Audrey. And you cannot understand the true measure of His mercy if you do not know Him."

"Nice homily," Audrey said, unable to shake her surliness.

Raphael bowed her head. "You asked me to explain and I am…I am trying, at least. Our Father loves us. Angels are as much His children as are men. He would not punish us, He would not condemn us for experiencing the gift He gave us. So yes, Audrey, angels can love and they can marry."

"And you," Audrey began, her voice fluttery, "and you and Gabriel-"

"Husband and wife," Raphael answered.

"Ugh." Audrey planted the heel of her palm against her head, which was beginning to throb again. The rain had picked up some and she thought she even heard a few droplets hissing through the chimney, spitting angrily at the fire.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I just can't picture someone like Gabriel…married. Did you have to marry him? Was it, like, arranged?"

For the first time, Raphael appeared a little bit indignant. Her nostrils flared. "Certainly not," she said. "Have you been listening to anything I've told you?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Perhaps I should have made this clear from the very beginning," Raphael said. "I love Gabriel. He is my breath, he is my life. He encompasses all the secrets that remain in my soul. He is my most beloved spouse. I chose him freely and he chose me. It has always been that way. Or it was…" She trailed off, a sudden flush betraying some tortured emotion she had long repressed. Raphael swallowed once, then twice.

Audrey looked away, giving her a minute to compose herself. "So," she said, sucking in a breath even though her bruised ribs ached with each expansion of her lungs. "So," she repeated, "how long have you guys been married?"

Raphael seemed glad that Audrey was pressing forward with their conversation, even relieved, maybe. She ran her fingers over her red cheeks, trying in vain to dispel her blush. "Oh," she said. "For a long time. For a very long time. I cannot count the years."

"But was there a time before? I mean, was there ever a time when you weren't married?"

Raphael seemed wistful. "Yes," she said slowly. "There was a time."

Audrey had another thought then, one that she knew was vastly inappropriate. And her tongue nearly got ahead of her, fueled by her curiosity which had suddenly turned insatiable. But she stopped herself before she could speak. Raphael, she knew, would definitely not appreciate her obnoxiousness…or her nosiness. Instead, Audrey decided on a less intrusive question, one that probably wouldn't offend the fragile angel.

"Do you have any kids?" she asked, her phrasing light, off-hand.

She was surprised when Raphael glanced at her sadly. "Ah, children," she said. "I am afraid that procreation is designated for mankind alone. You must know that angels are made, not born, Audrey."

"So that means you can't have babies?"

"I assure you," Raphael replied. Her long fingers had tightened over her knees. "I am quite childless."

"Oh, okay," Audrey muttered. Her curiosity hadn't exactly been sated, but she knew not to press her luck. Besides, there seemed to be something else, something that lurked just underneath Raphael's plaintive façade that was real and raw and damaged. Audrey was reminded of what she had said to Michael earlier in the day about Raphael being a bit of a paradox, the healer who wore armor and carried a sword. It seemed unfair to make the angel act against her nature. Or perhaps, she wondered, Raphael wasn't being made to act against her nature, she was being denied it.

Sitting back on the pile of pillows, Audrey remembered how it felt when Raphael had put her arms around her that morning, how she had seemed so much like a mother then, a true mother…

Audrey fiddled with her mug, her fingers tracing the smooth curve of the handle. It was hard not to feel bad for Raphael and she didn't bother fighting her sympathy anymore.

"Am I annoying you?" she asked. "Am I bothering you by asking all these questions?"

Raphael tilted her head to the side, her expression puzzled. "Of course not," she said and the sprightliness had returned to face, coloring her eyes until Audrey knew she had been stupid to think that Raphael was dull. "I enjoy speaking with you. It makes me…it makes me feel not so alone, I suppose."

"Yeah," Audrey said, her throat growing perilously dry as unexpected emotion seized her. "Me too." She paused, hoping to regain her composure. "As long as were already knee-deep in this," she said after a minute, "can I ask you something else?"

Raphael nodded encouragingly.

"All right, what's Michael's deal in this whole thing?"

"Michael?"

"Yeah." Audrey ran her thumb over the rim of her mug, the residue of the tea sticking to her skin. "I asked him if you guys were related and he said not really, but that you were 'dear' to him."

Raphael blinked, her lips pinching together in what might have been dry amusement. "I would beg to differ, if only because he seems so opposed to me lately. But yes, Audrey, I am dear to Michael and he is dear to me…and to Gabriel. They were made first, of course. Michael and Gabriel. They call themselves brothers. Our Father made me third, but we were always together, from the very first moment…from the very first. It was that way, it was always that way and perhaps I am naïve, but I never thought it would change."

"And it has?" Audrey asked gently. She didn't particularly care for the sudden shift in Raphael's bearing, which had gone from erect to slumped over. It was sad to see someone look so defeated.

_God_, she thought, _what the hell happened here?_

She almost wanted to ask outright, but was again forced to curb her impulsive tongue. Instead, she did something she never thought she'd do. Recalling Raphael's embrace and the angel's complete willingness to comfort her bratty, unworthy little charge, Audrey reached forward as far as she could and placed her hand on her wrist.

Raphael flinched, but stayed still otherwise. An appreciative glint lightened the sorrowful cast of the angel's gaze. She looked at Audrey wordlessly and smiled.

Audrey's stomach squirmed, although the feeling wasn't exactly unpleasant. She felt as though she had done something good for the first time in a long while. Something utterly selfless. And it was due to Raphael's influence, she knew. It was all due to the grace of an angel.

"You know," she said, "when I was a kid, I had this friend. Her name was Sarah and we went to the same grammar school. We were best friends, I guess. We did all the things kids are supposed to do. Sleepovers, birthday parties. I used to hang out at her house all the time when my parents…when they were fighting and we'd sit by her pool and just talk about nonsense. I really loved Sarah, because she was almost like a sister. She always seemed to know what was going on with me and she made me feel better about all the crap in my life. We were close, we were really, really close up until high school. During our freshman year, Sarah met this other girl, Tanya and then Tanya started tagging along with us wherever we went. She was all right. I could deal with her…at first. But then it started to get to the point that Tanya and Sarah would go to the movies alone and not invite me and when I'd find out, which I always did, I'd just sit home crying. I mean, I tried to be friends with both of them, I really tried…but three isn't a good number. It just isn't, Raphael. You know what I mean?"

"Yes," the angel agreed, even though there was a certain hesitance to her tone. "I understand that, Audrey, but we are dear to each other. We always have been. I cannot remember a time…I wouldn't want to remember a moment when they were not with me." She paused, her breathing shaky. "They are dear to me," she repeated. "They are still so very dear to me."

Audrey kept her hand on Raphael's wrist, wondering if the angel could feel comforted by the simple touch of a sinful human. And she wondered if she dared to do what needed to be done next. If she even had the strength.

"Raphael," she said, starting off slowly, taking her time, "if they're so dear to you and you are so dear to them, why did Michal and Gabriel come in here this morning to hurt you?"

"They didn't-"

"Yes, they did. And they hurt you _bad_."

Raphael did not respond at once. She pressed her lips together and her trepidation was painful, a desperate sort of reluctance that made her appear vulnerable. "It is as Michael said," she answered after a long minute, "you happened to see us at our worst."

"And what about your husband? What about Gabriel?" Audrey accused. "Is that what your marriage is really like? Is he the monster I think he is?"

"No!" Raphael's denial was vehement, forceful. "No, no. He has never been so harsh with me. And I have never been so cruel to him. It took a long time for this to happen, I believe. The darkness was always waiting and I was wrong to put my faith in what could never last-"

"You're getting abstract again," Audrey warned, tugging on Raphael's wrist slightly to bring her back into the moment. "I don't understand where you are going with this."

"I apologize," Raphael said. "I do not mean to complicate things, especially when they are so simple. It happened this way, Audrey. I only asked one thing of Gabriel and Michael. I made them both swear that they would never quarrel…because they _are_ dear to me and I would die…it would kill me if they did."

"As I recall, they were quite happy to kill each other," Audrey added. Disdain for the two male angels rose up within her. Their lack of mercy, even for themselves, was terrifying.

Raphael's head dropped. "Yes," she said, the tears in her voice obvious now. She was the wind and rain, the cold, lonesome wail of a broken, abandoned world.

Audrey gripped her tighter.

"Michael was ordered to kill the child, but he wouldn't obey," Raphael said. "Gabriel was ordered to stop him. And I begged them, I begged them both. I screamed and tore at my hair and threw myself at their feet. Michael wouldn't listen to me. That was expected. But Gabriel, Gabriel my husband…he would not listen to me either. I tried to stop them. I tried everything. And then I watched as it happened. I couldn't keep myself from watching."

Audrey grimaced, daunted by Raphael's pain. It was awful to see unrelenting weakness in a creature of such strength. The situation was pitiful. Unfair, really, considering how much Raphael seemed to love Michael and Gabriel…and how hard she had obviously tried to stop them.

But there was no easy solution to this, even Audrey knew that. Someone was destined to come out the loser. If Michael had listened to Raphael, then he probably would have blamed her for making him obey. If Gabriel had listened to Raphael, he might have blamed her for making him disobey. Everyone had lost, as far as Audrey was concerned and Raphael most of all.

She felt very ungenerous towards Michael and Gabriel. Didn't they realize? Didn't they see that Raphael had been put in the middle? But then Audrey remembered, she recalled how very merciless they were…

"Is this my fault?" she asked suddenly, eager almost, to take the blame for herself.

Raphael gaped at her. "I don't-"

"If I hadn't asked to stay with you," Audrey said, "if you just went home with them, then maybe things would be better. Maybe you would be able to forgive them and everything would go back to normal for you, instead of…instead of this." She gestured hopelessly at her shattered body, which Raphael had tried so hard to heal. God, she had tried so hard.

Raphael listened, her head still lowered, her face obscured by her messy mane of hair. She waited until Audrey had finished and then she lifted her hand off her wrist…and placed it between her palms.

The touch of her soft, warm skin on her knuckles made Audrey shiver. They truly were healing hands and she knew then that it was Raphael who could chase away the dark, who could shut the monsters back into the closest and take away the nightmare of her world.

"Little one," Raphael said and this time, Audrey found the sobriquet truly endearing. "You must be honest with me now. You can help me by telling the truth, no matter what it is. Do you wish to stay here? Is that what you truly want?"

"Yes," Audrey said without any hesitation.

Raphael seemed happy then, and perhaps a little relieved. It was hard to describe exactly what the angel looked like, although Audrey thought she was beautiful. Beautiful not like people were, but in an indefinable way, in the otherworldliness and celestial purity that came from her soul. No, Raphael might not have perfect blond hair or a Boticelli face or gleaming white robes, but there was a certain earnestness about her, a sincerity that made her, well, it made her angelic.

Audrey decided that her prick of a religion had been wrong, so wrong. This is what angels were supposed to look like. _This. _

Raphael kept her hands on Audrey's, her long fingers folded neatly over her palm. "You know this is not your fault," she said, "because I can tell you now, I want you to stay with me. It is what I was hoping for and the blame rests entirely with me." She paused before adding, "And them."

"Okay," Audrey said. "Okay."

They were quiet, but the world wasn't content to let them have peace. Fresh bouts of rain lashed the windows. The wind moaned in the chimney. A log split in the fireplace, infusing the air with the earthy scent of burnt wood and cinders.

Raphael shook her head, displacing the last wisps of their dream. Carefully, she slipped Audrey's hand out of hers and stood. The bed creaked.

"I think we can both agree," she said, "that your recovery needs to progress. It will be slow, I do not doubt, but you must try to have patience. And I will try…I will try." The angel glanced about distractedly, her usual bewilderment returning. "I've been thinking, we must find something for you to do."

"To do?" Audrey said skeptically. She couldn't help it, she looked down at her legs.

_I'd like to dance_, she thought, allowing a little self-pity to trickle into her heart. _Damn, I so wanted to dance at my senior prom._

"Some humans like books," Raphael commented. "Others like music. Art-"

_Art? _The nimble little fingers on Audrey's left hand wrapped around her empty tea mug. She thought of the hidden sketch pad in her desk drawer at home, the thin cardboard box full of pencils.

"I like art," she said automatically. "I mean, I like to draw."

"To draw?"

"Sketch." Audrey waggled around her free hand, imitating a pencil. "You know, like with paper and pencils and stuff. But it doesn't have to be pencils. It can be crayons, for all I care."

Raphael looked uncertain, but then again, Audrey was beginning to realize that she always looked uncertain.

"Pencils," she repeated, her lips pushing out the word on a short exhalation. "Paper. I…I will try."

_As always_, Audrey thought. "That'd be great," she said. "Really, really great."

Raphael seemed perplexed by her enthusiasm as she turned towards the door. "Pencils," she said again. "Paper."

"Wait! One more thing!" Audrey called.

Raphael glanced over her shoulder, the bottom half of her face hidden by her huge wing. Audrey could only see her eyes. Her sad, sad eyes.

She swallowed, remembering the angel's advice. _Patience. Patience._

"If it's not too much trouble," she said, shaking loose all the tangled strands of her hair. "I'd love a hairbrush too."

And she was thrilled, absolutely thrilled, when Raphael began to laugh.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thanks so much for reading! In chapter eleven, Raphael reflects on her marriage to Gabriel and their current, fractured relationship. Uriel arrives bearing some unusual gifts. The next installment is in the works and should be posted in roughly two weeks. Until then, take care and be well!


	11. Chapter Eleven Paradise Lost

**Author's Note: **Hello all and welcome to chapter eleven of "Rebirth". If this fic were a drabble series, than this installment would have definitely been broken up into a bunch of separate chapters, but as it isn't, we'll just have to call it a flashback chapter instead. ;) This is by no means a complete profile of Raphael and Gabriel's marriage, but rather, a _very_ vague overview of some of the more significant points…before everything completely fell apart, of course, haha.

As usual, I would like to take a minute to thank all my faithful readers and reviewers, **PhotoMunky, saichick, burning blossom, Melissa, DearAbby **and **Jenny Joker**. Also, I would like to thank everyone who has added this story to their favorites/author alerts list so far. Thanks, guys! I truly appreciate your support. I do hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Eleven Paradise Lost**

Raphael waited until Audrey was asleep to leave the cabin. The girl began to doze off at about nine, her head rolling back on the pillows, the tangled tendrils of her light brown hair fanned out over the white sheets. Raphael smoothed the knotted hair underneath her palms. She arranged the blankets over her small, fragile body, and stood by the bedside, listening, assuring herself that Audrey's breathing was steady and unlabored. It was very much like having a child, she told herself, pretending for an instant that the little one was hers and that they were happy together, mother and daughter. A family.

But Raphael knew enough not to deceive herself. She knew enough to pull her mind away from Audrey's, away from the one comfort she had always secretly sought out. Turning away from her sleeping patient, she slipped out the bedroom door and into the heart of the cabin. The living room was warm, heated by the fire that still burned in the hearth. Shadows inched along the floor and up the walls. In the kitchen, the sink faucet dripped, the sound like rain, although the afternoon's storm had already blown over.

Raphael stood in the center of the room for a minute, her hands pressed against her flat abdomen. She thought of Eve and how her womb had swelled when she carried her children. She thought of the many, many women who had come after and wondered what it had been like for them.

"It doesn't matter," she said, speaking to the slumbering house and the warm air and the fire, which spat rose-colored cinders onto the stone hearth. "It never mattered."

Working carefully, her every move meticulous and thoughtful, she removed her heavy outer garments, the leather hauberk she wore to protect her body from the weight of her armor, the wide belt that held her sword, the thick-soled boots that pulled her feet down to earth when she wanted only to fly. Standing in her light under tunic and trousers, Raphael tip-toed through the living room and into the narrow hall that snaked alongside the kitchen. There was another bedroom in the back, along with a bathroom and a few crowded closets. She bypassed them all in favor of the door that led out into the backyard, her fingers easing it open until she was standing amidst the night. The quiet, soft night.

Raphael sniffed the clean, chilled air, surprised that the cold hadn't frozen any of the rain into snow. The backyard did lay under a fine veneer of frost, though, and the ice on the path between the flower beds melted slightly when her warm feet crunched over it.

Leaving behind the orderly backyard, she walked a little ways into the woods, staying close enough to the cabin so that she could still see the light from the fire through the windows. Raphael stopped when the tree branches thickened and the sappy pine needles started sticking to her toes. She was standing between a poplar and a fir and the moon above was veiled behind gauzy red clouds, but she thought she could still see some stars.

_Stars._

Raphael screamed, her hands pressed to her face to cover the sound, which threatened to shatter the hallowed stillness of the dark. She fell to her knees and screamed and cried and let her tears rush over her fingers until she was certain she wouldn't be able to breathe again.

And then it stopped. The agony left her, only to replaced by a lingering malaise, a numbness that first manifested itself in the tips of her fingers and toes. Raphael sat back on her heels, the frost wetting the hem of her tunic. The musky scent of wet soil and leafy decay clogged her nostrils.

Shuddering, the angel drew her wings around her, feeling the first blast of the mountain wind on her cheeks. She wasn't certain if she felt better. Just cold. Frozen. Weak.

_Weak. Why have I always been weak?_

Raphael closed her eyes, her damp lashes fluttering against her skin. She was torn. Something had crept inside her and devoured her peace, feasted on the happiness she had once thought was her own. But she had been naïve, misguided, amiss.

_Father, why have I always been naïve?_

There were too many dark things in her mind to make sense of, too many wretched insinuations and implications and accusations. It was nearly as bad as watching Michael and Gabriel fight, seeing them tear into each other with their hands, willing to spill blood, so careless of their lives…and hers.

How had this happened?

Raphael folded her hands against her chest, trying to collect some warmth. Her knuckles ached with the cold and she pressed her palms to her neck, feeling her heartbeat. It hurt her now to think of Michael and Gabriel. _It hurt._

And their voices, their words, their casual cruelty… Audrey was right, in some ways. It was hard to overlook the purpose of Michael and Gabriel's visit when they were both so single-mingled, so bent on shaking loose the very foundation of her life until she could only cling to what she remembered of her contentment. But slowly, Raphael was beginning to forget all the things that she had loved and she was beginning to forget him, her husband, as he had been.

Gabriel, who was her heart. Gabriel, who knew all the secrets of her soul. Gabriel, who was her most beloved spouse…beloved…_beloved_…

_I recognize nothing in you that I used to hold dear._

Raphael flinched, her body reacting to the mere memory of his words, which had settled inside her, nestled up against her pain until she felt the echo of them every time she drew breath.

He had said that to her. Her husband. He had said that horrible, wretched thing.

And it might be true, she feared, her agony returning once more. It might be entirely true.

"What would happen," Raphael asked the forest and the trees and the distant lake, which lapped solemnly at its banks, "if he didn't love me?"

She didn't know. But God, dear Father, how had this happened? How had the tide swept in, drowning her, drowning him, laying waste to what they had built, their home, their love, without her ever seeing it? Was it her fault? Was it his? Could it even have been Michael's?

Raphael didn't know. _Heavenly Father, why can't I know?_

Her joints loosened, her limbs becoming weak as water as the night deepened. It was, she realized, the pathetic fallacy at its best, her melancholy echoing both the inky folds of the indifferent sky and the vaporous red clouds that reminded her of blood. Raphael was ashamed of her sadness and her tears and her desperation. But most of all, she was ashamed of them, of what they had become and what they now were. Husband and wife.

Husband and wife no more…

"Oh God," she whispered, her breath rising in wisps of pale fog. Raphael's knees shook, her thighs finally giving way as she fell forward, her palms pressing against the mud and the moss. She dug her fingers into the soil, pine needles embedding themselves in her nails.

What if it was over? What if he never came back? What if Audrey, poor little Audrey, had been right?

She should have gone with Gabriel. She should have…

"But I didn't," Raphael said, her heart thudding brokenly in her throat, bringing up a rush of fear. Her arms were unable to support her weight, the wind bringing first a prickling ache and then a numbness to her flesh.

Raphael looked at her hands in the dirt and smelled the soil and felt the rhythm of the earth, which was foreign to her who knew only Heaven.

_Oh dear Father, dear Father, I miss him._

Raphael wept. She wept and let her long body stretch out on the ground, her abdomen, her empty womb touching the earth.

_Gabriel. Gabriel, Gabriel…_

"Gabriel," she said, her eyes closed. The night was full around her, assuaging her emptiness, reminding her that there had once been a time…that there had once been happiness.

"What if I want it back?" Raphael asked. "Won't it come back?"

But the world, the realm of man, was indifferent to the cries of one lonely angel. The wind moved wordlessly in the trees and the moon hid behind the rain-laden clouds and the stars, Raphael knew that the stars were hopeless. _Hopeless…  
><em>

* * *

><p>The moment of creation was a soft awakening, the pulling together of fragments of light to form a material being. The building of the heart, imbued with the promise of pain, but also love. His love. Raphael's first memory was that of awareness. She existed. She knew. She felt. And that was all.<p>

He came to her and brought her forth. He took her into His hands and gave her what would soon be called her soul. He made her from His love and into love she was born, a slender body, sculpted white bones, forgiving flesh and wings. She heard first the music of His voice. The melody. The swirling notes that landed on her conscious mind and told her what it was to live.

Raphael opened her eyes and saw His glory. Even as she was born, she praised Him. She spoke first the hallelujahs and the hymns. She grew in His wisdom and in all the mysteries of true being. He kept her by His side, in the light from which she came and Raphael sat in the sanctuary with her head on His knee, in the place where the world began and where it would end.

It was perfection, the moment of creation. It was peace. It was the promise of the gift He had granted her. That was before, of course. Before _them_. Before she knew what angels were. Before she knew that she was not alone, but one of her Father's many children.

Creation. It was _her_ moment. Her time to exist, to breathe and live and let her soul echo in His presence, in His glorious, glorious presence.

And Raphael loved her Father well. She loved Him and drowned in the love He returned to her.

Her moment. Her creation. It was perfection. It was beauty everlasting. It was _joy_.

* * *

><p>Her Father brought her into the Garden. She was young yet, her limbs still prone to uncertain trembling, her wings untested and her heart so new that the quietest stirring, the softest rustling of the wind, resounded within her fragile little breast. He brought her into the world, put the grass beneath her feet and the sun in sky to warm her and showed her all the things He had made. He showed her the trees with brown bark and leafy heads. He showed her the flowers that whispered perfume sonatas, the rocks with grey scales and the round, smooth pebbles that hid in the beds of streams. He showed her the clouds and the air and the stars, which stayed behind the blue of the sky until the night fell.<p>

And He showed her them. _Them. _

There were only two of them and when He called, they both came. Raphael was startled by the way they moved, their grace enthralling her, the perfect movement of each limb, the sighing of their wings which rose and fell and beat the air.

They frightened her, at first. They frightened her terribly.

But her Father put her hand in His and He led her to them. He took her down into the heart of the Garden, letting her shield herself in the comforting, cool shade of the fragrant pines. And she could see them, the two creatures with wings, peeking through the branches, watching her, their eyes wide with a curiosity that made her new heart throb.

Raphael felt tears on her cheeks when she looked at them. She wept and did not know what it was to weep. But they watched her, those strange creatures. They waited by the edge of the pine grove, their patience gracious, tender, loving.

And Raphael hadn't known that anyone but her Father could love her.

She told herself, at first, at the very beginning, that she did not like the look of them. The creatures were male, that she knew, but she was female. Their bronzed legs and arms were thicker, their shoulders broader, their feathers a shade of smooth black. One was slender and bore a scattering of markings on his body. He had hair the color of honey and eyes that were so bright that Raphael shook when he looked at her. The other one was massive, _big_. He towered over her like the pine trees and his features were strong. She studied the hard angles of his curved jaw and high cheekbones and small, pale lips. He had dark hair, that one, and eyes that were as clear as water.

Her Father made her stand in front of them, made her stand close until she could hear their breathing and count each and every one of their feathers. She trembled. She felt tears on her cheeks and tasted salt. She wondered what they thought of her. She wondered, oh she wondered.

"_Michael, Gabriel_," her Father's voice was many, the bird and the ocean, the desert and the sky, the sun and the universe. "_I have made for you a companion. She is called Raphael. Come now and greet her_."

There was a pause. Raphael's new heart ached, it pounded within her and reminded her of her life, which was still young and unknowing and awestruck.

What were they? And what was she…

But then the one called Michael moved. He leapt forward on his swift feet, catching her up in his arms, his wings embracing them both as he pressed his cheek to her breast and listened to her new heart.

"Raphael," he said her name. "Raphael."

"Michael," she replied at once and in speaking the name rejoiced.

_Michael. He is Michael. _

In the midst of his embrace, she saw the other one, the tall creature, approach her with his arm outstretched. He said nothing, he said nothing at all, but he touched her hair.

Raphael returned his gaze, her tongue quieted by his silence, his soft stillness that lulled the very last of her fear from her mind. With his fingers in her hair, she thought, she knew…_Gabriel. He is Gabriel.  
><em>

* * *

><p>It was Michael who wanted to teach her to fly. He was, in those days, not practiced in the art of tact, favoring instead his wild stubbornness which too often made him impulsive. Raphael, still wide-eyed with the brilliance of life, trusted his intemperance. She enjoyed his laughter and was charmed by his capricious mischief. She let him tease her. She let him play and run and dance with her. She listened to him when he spoke. She told him that he was wonderful.<p>

But stubborn. Perhaps too stubborn.

Michael decided that he would teach her to fly. He promised that she would love the sky better than the Garden. He taught her the names of the stars. He vowed to take her with him, soaring above the clouds.

But Raphael was timid. She looked at the great span of his wings. She brushed her hands along his stiff feathers and admired the strength in his muscled shoulders. And her own wings were smaller, awkward appendages that hung from her back. Heavy weights that kept her feet firmly planted on the soil.

"I do not think I can," she told Michael at night when the three of them would lay by the river and watch the moon drip silver into the water. Although she spoke with Michael most, Raphael found that she liked to rest beside Gabriel, his dignity and gravity lending her a feeling of warmth, of safety. He was quiet. He did not speak to her much. But he stayed by her through the days, his large body trailing in the wake of her shadow. He stood next to her and Raphael allowed him to follow her, because he was wonderful too, although she never told him.

Wonderful like Michael, but not stubborn. And Michael was stubborn. He was unbending. Unyielding. He was untamed.

"You will learn," he told her, his voice rough as the bark on the trees, reaching her over the humming river. "I will teach you."

"No." Raphael put her face to the grass, enjoying the sound of Gabriel's breathing beside her. The steady inhalation and exhalation. The whispers of his soul. "No," she told Michael, sleepy, drowsy, dozing in the perfect quiet of the deep night.

But Michael was stubborn. And although she listened to him, he never seemed to listen to her.

"I want to show you," Michael said, his voice suddenly closer, infused with a desperate longing that made Raphael open her eyes. He was standing above her. The grey light of the moon was in his hair and on his flesh and burning in his eyes, his too bright eyes.

"Everything," he said, catching her wrist with his hand. "I want to show you everything."

She did not have time to protest. In an instant, the wind rose, singing in her ears and she was being pulled, up, up, up. Looking down, Raphael saw that the ground, the Garden, was a smudge of foggy blues and greens, the river only a thin coil of light. It wasn't long, though, before the world disappeared entirely and the clouds came, the gossamer vapors cold on her cheeks as Michael flew with her, brought her higher and higher and higher and they were going to touch the stars.

But they didn't touch the stars, because Michael let her go. Gently, he uncurled his fingers from around her wrist, the agility of his own practiced wings taking him higher as she fell away from him.

"Michael!" Raphael cried. She didn't have time to be frightened. The clouds raced passed her, the world appearing again, the trees and bright patches of grass. The river which drank up the moonlight.

It was beautiful and it was terrible. Raphael forgot about her wings and she gave into the moment, that fearsome, perilous, wildly magnificent moment. And the world was there, waiting for her. Rising up. Rising.

He caught her. Gabriel. He grabbed hold of both her arms and pulled her against him. Raphael's head was resting on his neck and she could hear the thunderous roar of his blood through his veins, his heart beating violently. Thunk-thunk. Thunk-thunk.

"Your wings," Gabriel said, his voice coloring the air between them, which smelled not of the stars, but of the Garden. "Move your wings."

Raphael did as she was told, relying on Gabriel to steady her, following the easy rhythm of his own wings which sliced up and down, creating a current of wind that kept them afloat.

"It feels," she said, her body finally understanding its true purpose, reveling in the gift of flight. "It feels…" She was going to say wonderful, but stopped. The look in Gabriel's eyes stopped her.

"He should _not_ have done that," he said. "I will make him apologize."

But Raphael didn't think it mattered. And neither, apparently, did Michael. Hollering and laughing for joy, he circled above them, the span of his wings casting narrow shadows over them both.

* * *

><p>They were separated often. Too often, Raphael thought, but she learned to be content with her solitude. Michael was the General, and Gabriel the Messenger, and their Father sent them both into the living earth to guide men and to deliver His Word and to secure the everlasting bond between the humans and their Creator. Raphael, who was only the Healer, stayed behind.<p>

She did not know envy. She did not know anger. But she did know loneliness, the vague hint of grief born from separation, from realizing that she had belonged to them from the first and they had belonged to her.

There was never a time, however, when her sorrow lingered. Michael and Gabriel returned, often, so very often and they would find her waiting from them in the Garden. She always waited.

Michael, the talkative one, brought his stories to her. Together, they would perch on low, curved branches and he would tell her things, of what he had seen and felt and what men, who had long been banished from the Garden, were truly like.

Raphael listened to him. She was always patient, coaxing each word from him, each excited syllable and phrase, enjoying the brightness of his eyes, which were forever undimmed.

"It seems wonderful," she would tell him when they sat with each other, his arm thrown affectionately across her shoulders. "And beautiful."

And Michael, she knew, could speak for ages. He could talk and talk and talk, but Raphael felt that he liked it best when she said little things, such sweet little things.

But with Gabriel it was different. When he returned from the world, with the weight of so many cares placed on his shoulders, with his heart heavy, because it always seemed heavy, he never spoke with her. He never brought her stories, but he brought her things. Trinkets. _Gifts_, he called them.

Raphael loved his gifts, because unlike Michael's stories, they were meant for her. Small objects which she took pleasure in. Gifts that Gabriel had searched for, that he had found…_for her_.

He had a playful habit of surprising her. When Michael had finished with his stories and Gabriel had Raphael to himself, he would hold out his large hands, open his calloused palms for her and there she would find treasures. Smooth pebbles and shells plucked from the shores of the oceans. Sprigs of growing herbs, wild jasmine, lavender, rosemary. Small, slender bird feathers that were so different from her own.

And Raphael would revel in his attention and in his smile, which he shared only with her.

"You are wonderful," she would tell him, a strange, blissful sort of warmth filling her when she stood on the tips of her toes, thanking him with light kisses. "And you are beautiful."

* * *

><p>There came a time, when Raphael felt that her life was complete and secure, that Michael began to press her to leave the Garden.<p>

"I want you to come with me," he told her when they were alone together, spearing her contentment with his own dogged conviction.

Raphael tried not to look surprised. She was kneeling in an ash grove, gathering wild thyme and daisies, enjoying the caress of white petals and pollen on her skin.

"What about Gabriel?" she asked him, her head tilted up to the sunlight, which was strong and cut into her eyes. But Michael moved into her line of sight, throwing a cool shadow over her face.

"Gabriel will not come," he said. "Not this time."

Raphael ran her fingers over the stem of a daisy. The scent of life, green and verdant, hit her nostrils. "Men make me nervous," she admitted, fearing her own timidity, which seemed foolish when held up against Michael's inner strength. "I do not think I was made to go amongst them as you do. Our Father has never asked it of me-"

Michael dropped into a crouching position, his eyes meeting hers. For a moment, Raphael felt that there was no escape.

"Our Father has not asked this of you," he said. "_I_ am asking. Come with me. I want you to leave the Garden. I want to show you something."

_Always something,_ Raphael thought. She gathered her daisies and the sprigs of thyme into a chaotic bundle on her lap. "_You_ make me nervous," she told him, hating the admission, but finding it necessary nonetheless.

"It will only be for a little while," Michael said. He was coming dangerously close to begging. "Please."

"Oh." Raphael pushed the air out of her lungs as a sigh. What would happen, she wondered, if she ever refused him?

In the end, she thought it would be best to never find out.

A few days later, Michael took Raphael out of the Garden, away from their Father's home to the place where men dwelled. She herself felt skittish at the prospect, having absolutely no taste to see the baseness of the mortal world, the place that Adam and Eve and their children had unknowingly polluted with sin. It wasn't until Raphael left the Garden, however, that the full scale of her naivety became evident to her. There was no darkness, except that which was found in the night sky. Mothers still loved their children. Sons honored their fathers. Humans moved through their lives, sometimes with gladness, other times with sorrow, but always in the image of their Creator. It pleased Raphael when she recognized something of their Father in the men that she saw. It gave her hope.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?" she asked Michael, feeling some appreciativeness for his effort, which had warmed her heart and awakened a quiet tenderness for the race of men.

But Michael was strangely reticent. "No," he said and he brought her to a place that was secluded from humans, a vast lake that sat at the foot of a mountain range.

When they alighted on the rim of the shore, the dewy light of the early evening stars rushing over the water, Michael smiled. "This," he said, gesturing proudly at the lake. "This is what I wished to show you."

Raphael held her breath in the silence that followed. She thought that the lake, with its sentinel mountains and slowly uncurling waves was lovely. Pretty. A picture of rare serenity in a world she had thought was turbulent.

But she could not help but wonder, why had Michael brought her there?

"There is peace here," she said, grasping desperately at his logic, which continued to elude her.

Michael's wide smile was somehow daunting. "I had hoped that you would find it beautiful."

Raphael turned her gaze from him and looked at across the lake. She saw a white-winged heron glide over the water. "I do."

"Here." Michael bent at the waist, scooping up a few stones into his hands. "Gabriel always brings you pebbles, doesn't he? Like these?" He pressed the rocks into her palms.

"Yes," she replied, her fingers closing over the stones. They were rough, not smooth. "Gabriel sometimes brings me gifts."

Michael stood close by her shoulder, his expression expectant. Raphael felt as though he was waiting for her to say something…or do, something perhaps.

_But he must realize_, she thought_, that he is not Gabriel. Why would he ever try to be like Gabriel?_

After a moment's hesitation, she reached out and gently placed the pebbles back in his hands. "It is different," she said, hoping he would understood, hoping she would never have to explain.

But Michael already knew. Opening his fingers, he let the tiny stones fall to the ground at his feet.

* * *

><p><em>It <em>is_ different_, Raphael told herself. The realization came to her, rushed upon her with the force of a relentless epiphany and she welcomed it. The truth had never been so beautiful. It was never so blessed. Raphael accepted the difference and she understood it. And Gabriel, yes Gabriel understood it too.

They began to spend more time together, apart from Michael and the others. At first, it felt very much like thievery, stealing moments of solitude for themselves and giving the hours to idleness.

They would walk with each, finding spots in the Garden that they could make their own. Fragrant groves. Alcoves of flowering vines and cathedrals of towering trees. Valleys that were deep and wide and endless.

Life, Raphael knew, was changing. Evolving. Becoming something that was not hers alone, but his as well.

It was different. It was tentative and uncertain, but constant. It was the subtle bloom of what Raphael thought might be love, but a new love. His love. Their love.

And sometimes, when she was alone with Gabriel, she felt guilty, only a little guilty, when she thought of Michael. Not always. But sometimes.

Gabriel, however, never shared her pangs of worry. He was full of life and fervent. He was gentle and he gave his heavy heart to her. And Raphael gladly took it from him, holding it within her hands, easing from it the aches and the sorrow until it was made new again. Until they were both made new.

"Heal me," Gabriel would say when they sat on some moss-strewn rock or in the shade of some high, green hill. "Physician, heal me."

And he would take her hands in his, he would touch his lips tenderly to her knuckles and kiss each of her fingers.

Raphael could only smile. He always made her smile. "I love you," she would tell him over and over again, until he was healed. "I love you."

* * *

><p>She wanted to tell him first. Brimming with happiness, <em>their<em> happiness, she searched for Michael in the Garden. She searched from him in the wild meadows that smelled of sweet honey and in the valleys, where the streams ran, purling and pooling into the basins of lakes. She searched for him in the clouds, which she knew he loved best, in the high, spiraling reaches of the morning sky that was a tender blue and warm with the sun. She searched, but she did not find him until she came to the pine groves, until she returned to the place where they had found her, where Michael had first called her name and Gabriel had touched her hair.

Raphael found Michael lingering in the perfumed embrace of the heavy boughs. The ground beneath his booted feet was a tawny red and her own footfalls were deadened by the layer of fallen needles. The smell of growth and decay sedated her exuberant mood and when she approached him, she managed to look solemn. Her smile hid behind careful dignity.

But Michael's own grin was boyish when he saw her. His lips rose in a playful curve and he lost the hardness of a soldier, the General falling away in favor of a warm softness that was almost childlike. He looked young and old, standing there. A figure that was aged, but at the same time, ageless.

"Raphael," he said.

She could not help it. Hearing his voice, she only laughed.

When she was within arm's reach, the fringe of the branch above dusting her hair like a spider's web, Michael pulled her close. Raphael was still as she stood with him, quiet enough to hear that their heart's beat in tandem. She put her hands, her healer's hands, on either side of his neck and pulled his face down. Their noses touched.

"Michael," she said, remembering the first time she had heard his name on her tongue. For a moment, she almost wished to could go back to what had been, the beginning, when her heart was new and untouched and the discovery that she could be loved by someone other than her Father was not yet realized.

Michael's eyes narrowed, the brightness becoming a crescent moon. She wondered if he was thinking the same. She wondered, oh she wondered.

"I wanted to tell you first," Raphael said.

Michael breathed into her and for a moment, their lives were one. But it was for a moment. Only a moment. "I am listening."

Raphael's heart surged. It beat faster than Michael's. "Gabriel has asked me to be his wife," she said. "And I will."

She was surprised, not necessarily disappointed, but surprised, when Michael began to weep.

He wept, he wept into her hands and his tears were like the stars. Hopeless, _hopeless_…

* * *

><p>There was noise, movement, the snapping of dry branches. Raphael stirred, lifting her head off the ground. She blinked and felt the sleep still heavy in her eyes. She must have dozed…<p>

"Gabriel," she mouthed, her voice a crude croak. She ran her hands over her bare arms, feeling the dampness of her flesh. The night had settled around her, dropping frost and a fleeting shower of rain. Ice collected in her feathers. Her wing joints were stiff.

"Gabriel," Raphael echoed, her drowsy senses suddenly attune, picking apart all the tiny noises of the midnight forest. The hunting owls and creeping deer. The steady drip, drip of rain droplets on the dead carpet of leaves. And him, she was certain that she had heard him. Moving. Breathing. _Living._

He was hiding from her, darting between the trees, a figure of elegant stealth on his lethal wings. Raphael shivered, enjoying the cold even though it was harsh. Her heart was warm with the promise of his return and she hearkened to it, let the heat fill her veins and pour into her each whispered breathe.

"Gabriel," she said and she knew she would welcome him. With open arms. With love. With forgiveness. Yes, she could forgive. She could heal.

"I am sorry," a voice responded, parting the quiet air with its lullaby tone.

Raphael's disappointment was immediate, spiraling down into her gut. She doubled over and put her hands on her abdomen. There was mud, she realized, on her fingertips.

"You were not expecting me," Uriel said as he emerged from behind the poplar. "Oh Raphael." His words were a sigh and she saw his shame when he looked at her.

Raphael blushed, her embarrassment fierce. There were tears still on her cheeks, that she knew. The cold had frozen them there.

"Pitiful," she said, allowing Uriel to kneel beside her and gently pick the burrs and pine needles from her tangled hair. "I never wanted to be seen like this."

"Hmm," Uriel hummed. The moonlight slanted through the shaggy branches, glancing off his armor in shadows of resplendent silver. "I won't tell the others," he assured her.

And Raphael thought that she could start weeping again. She was humbled by his kindness. Uriel was always considerate. Their Father had made him that way.

It pained her, though, to be suspicious of him, of his tender soul and gracious esteem and quiet, reassuring presence. She glanced at him, saw his waves of light hair, spun gold, and noticed the pleasant dimples carved deep into the corners of his mouth. He was trying to smile even then and that made her feel wretched.

"I was not kind to you," Raphael said, "when last we were together."

"Searching for Michael and Gabriel," Uriel added. "I remember that night. It was…bitter."

"And I was cruel." Raphael shook the last of the needles from her hair. "I never meant to be cruel, only-"

Uriel pushed his lips together, drawing in his cheeks in an expression that nearly mirrored a frown. Raphael knew then to change the subject.

"Thank you," she said instead, "for going with me."

Uriel's mild frown was punctured by a shrug, his relative youth and unquenched joy for life showing itself in his temperate mannerisms. "Are you happy to see me?" he asked, lowering his head to glance up at her from beneath his curling bangs.

"No," Raphael admitted truthfully, "because I think _they_ might have sent you."

Uriel nodded. "Very astute. They did indeed."

"Are you to be our mediator?"

"I would not," Uriel said, his voice dropping low, his inflection hardened with just a hint of regret. "You know it has never been my place to interfere with the three of you."

"I envy your soul," Raphael replied, "for its purity."

"Let us call it respect instead, shall we?" Uriel replied, rolling his shoulders, the tips of his wings fanned out on the frozen soil.

Raphael could tell that she had embarrassed him. She looked askance. "Why have you come?" she asked, deciding that it was perhaps more convenient to get to the point.

Uriel put his hands behind him, groping in the folds of his black cloak that cascaded neatly between his wings. "I come," he said, "bearing a gift."

Raphael felt her face go slack. "I don't believe I've asked for anything."

"No, but Audrey has." He produced two small packets from inside his cloak and laid them carefully on the ground between them.

Raphael immediately recognized what they were; a sketchpad and a small cardboard box filled with drawing pencils. Her hands ghosted over them. After a moment's hesitation, she opened the box of pencils and ran her damp fingers over each smooth shaft. The pencils rolled underneath her palm.

"I do not have to tell you who found them," Uriel said.

Raphael closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the woody incense of the winter forest filling her lungs. Beneath her celestial body, her bones and blood and flesh, she felt the earth stir. She felt it sigh and move and live along with her. Slowly, her loneliness began to cede, melting against the promised warmth of companionship. She was not alone. Blessed Father, she was not alone.

"Gabriel," Raphael said. She closed up the box and picked up both the pencils and sketchpad, cradling them against her breasts. "It was him."

"He's been listening to you," Uriel said. "You should never think that you have abandoned."

"But I have abandoned him." Raphael rested her chin on the edge of the sketchpad, warm, slick tears caressing her raw cheeks. "Tell me, how were they when you last saw them?"

Uriel raised his head. He looked at the sky. "Michael was very angry."

"At me?"

"At himself," Uriel corrected.

"And Gabriel?" Raphael's heart beat slowly, the rhythm new. Unknown. "Was he angry as well?"

Uriel's eyes were soft. He reached forward and touched her wet cheek with his finger. "No," he said. "I saw him weep."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Yes, things are all rainbows and flowers and pretty little gifts now, but I think we all know that marriages rarely stay that way forever…even matches made in Heaven.

Sorry, that pun was awful, but I just couldn't resist. ;) Thanks so very much for reading! If you happen to have some free time, please do leave me a review. I get absolutely ecstatic whenever I receive feedback for this story.

In chapter twelve, Audrey is pleasantly surprised by Raphael's gift. A chance excursion by the lake, however, brings up old memories and leads to a startling confession. The next installment is in the works and should be posted in roughly ten days. Take care and be well, everyone!


	12. Chapter Twelve The Lake

**Author's Note: **We're going to be taking a slight break from Raphael and Gabriel's angst in this chapter and concentrate on Audrey instead. After all, this story is about her as well, and I have to make sure that all my characters suffer just a little bit, hehe.

As always, I would like to thank all my fabulous readers and reviewers **saichick, PhotoMunky **and **Jenny Joker. **In addition, I would like to thank everyone who has added this story to their favorites/author alerts list so far. Thanks a million, guys! I do hope you enjoy this installment.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Twelve The Lake**

When Audrey woke up the next morning, she got the surprise of her life. It wasn't the new cell phone she wanted, nor the gift card to the MAC store at the mall, nor the jade necklace she had spotted in a little boutique by her old house and had hoped to find under the tree on Christmas. No, she decided, her aching torso propped up on her elbows, the warm, slept-in blankets bunching under her chin, this was about a million times better.

A box of pencils and a wide sketchpad had been placed at the bottom of her bed. Raphael had arranged the items artfully, leaning them up against the footboard so that Audrey could easily see them. With the grey dawn light dripping through the windows and the sound of a bird chirping on the branch outside, Audrey looked at her presents and felt nothing short of delight.

It was perhaps the first really thoughtful gift she had ever received. Her mom, who had always been in charge of the Christmas and birthday shopping, usually picked presents that were more fashionable, items that showed off her supposed good taste. Audrey remembered one occasion in particular, one Christmas morning when she had asked Santa for a new bike but was instead given one of those skinny razor scooters that were all the rage. Over the years, of course, she had learned to adapt her disappointment and ask for gifts that she knew that her mom would _want_ to get her. But that had all changed now, because someone had cared enough to actually listen to her.

"God," Audrey muttered, half-awed, "this puts Christmas to shit."

"You have a noticeable affinity for foul language." Raphael's voice was a high chime as she stepped into the room, bearing her usual tray of tea. "It colors your every expression."

Audrey didn't even bother to blush. Her grin was lopsided as stretched her arms forward, reaching for the box of pencils. Gratitude had left her feeling giddy, as though her sore bones had melted and she was filled only with light. Angels were supposed to be made from light, weren't they? Audrey wondered if Raphael felt that way all the time.

"I can't believe you did this," she said, keeping her eyes on the box of pencils. For some reason, she found she had a hard time looking at the angel, childish embarrassment making her shy. She didn't know what she should do exactly, although a thank you was probably in order.

Pulling her shoulders up in a coy shrug, she glanced cautiously at Raphael. "I thought you'd forget or something."

"Angels never forget," Raphael commented as she set the tray carefully on the nightstand.

"Like elephants?"

"I suppose."

The sound of tea being poured followed, the amber liquid sending up spirals of steam that tickled Audrey's nose and raised gooseflesh along her arms. She reached again for the packages, but could only move her torso far enough forward to brush the cover of the sketchpad with her fingertips.

Raphael dropped a spoon into the teacup and stirred. Audrey knew she was watching her and she felt, for all the world, that she was being put to some sort of test. Her body resisted, reminding her of her limitations. Of her legs, which were now dead weights. Of her mind, which could not overcome the great tragedy of it all. And yet she reached, she reached and reached until all her finger joints were stiff and her chest blazed with pain and she was almost certain that her lungs were going to be pushed up into her throat and out of her mouth. She _reached._

Raphael made a sudden move, abandoning the breakfast tray in favor of the sketchpad and pencils. Audrey saw that the angel was going to hand the items to her…and she fought back.

"I'm going to do it," she insisted, the words spilling out from between her gritted teeth. "I've got this, I've got this!"

Raphael withdrew, her wings fluttering softly as she took a measured step back. "Go on," she said and that was all.

With renewed determination, Audrey threw herself forward until her stomach was nearly flat against her thighs. The position was slightly reminiscent of all those yoga poses she used to do, although now her broken body wouldn't cooperate, wouldn't flex and bend at her command. It was the most claustrophobic feeling in the world, Audrey decided. It was being trapped and tied down. It was being lost to something she knew was greater than herself, the harsh reality of life which had taken all of her adolescent drama and her angst and given her something fierce and terrible to fight against. Audrey felt as though fate itself were questioning her, mocking her weakness and telling her, again and again, that she couldn't do it…she just couldn't do it.

But she would. Dammit, she _would. _

It seemed to take a long time, her body straining, her unused muscles coiling into tight, painful knots. Her stomach did jolt a little, though, when her fingers managed to grasp the edge of the sketchpad. Encouraged by her progress, Audrey pulled it towards her, knocking the box of pencils onto her toes in the process. She grabbed the items and hugged them against her chest, feeling both ridiculous and exhilarated to have completed such a small act. When she finally took the time to glance up at Raphael, she saw that angel was trying to hide her smile.

"Would you like some honey?" she asked, her fingers finding the top of the silver spoon that stuck out of the teacup.

Audrey thought the angel was going to great lengths to keep her own satisfaction concealed and it warmed her heart. Raphael certainly wasn't selfish, she was giving this moment to her.

"Yeah," Audrey said, her heart throbbing against the sketchpad.

Raphael scooped a sticky dollop out of a jar and dropped it into the cup. There was silence for a moment and Audrey took advantage of the relative quiet. The bird outside the window was still chirping. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what the creature might look like, a sparrow or a robin, perched contentedly on the long branch of an evergreen. It was a picturesque thought, a hint of quiet beauty in a world that now seemed ugly_._

The pencils and sketchpad lay heavily on her chest. Audrey felt her fingers begin to itch.

Her minor victory had infused her with an irresistible energy, a hungry desire for what lay just beyond, in a world that was not yet defined, but temptingly mysterious.

"I think I want to go outside," she said, the words leaving her mouth before the notion had even fully formed itself in her mind.

Metal chinked against ceramic. Raphael tapped the spoon impatiently against the rim of the cup. "You are going to eat now," she said, here voice notoriously monotone. "I found a loaf of fresh bread for you yesterday and there is some blueberry jam in the pantry closet. Eat. We must build your appetite."

"Fresh air works up an appetite," Audrey said, pleased that she finally had logic on her side. Reluctantly, she placed her new treasures on the nightstand in order to take the teacup from Raphael. "You said you picked this place for me because it was beautiful. Well, I haven't seen a thing past those yucky curtains. I want to go outside. Have a little change of scenery."

Raphael pursed her lips as she watched her sip her drink. "It is very cold" she said, the words short and pointed. "There was frost on the ground last night and it rains often. Your body is too weak to stand the chill. Stay. I will move you into the living room and build another fire, if you wish. There are wide windows there. You can see the lake-"

Audrey shook her head, her hands folded protectively over the cup. "Not good enough," she said. "I'm not looking to compromise here. _You're_ the one who said my recovery had to progress. Shouldn't you be all gung-ho about this? Come on, I'm not really asking for a lot. Only a half hour, tops. Come on, Raphael. Come on. Come on!"

She watched the angel closely, finding it nearly hysterical when Raphael actually rolled her eyes. The reaction was so human that Audrey broke into a fit of wild giggles, her head thrown back, neck cradled against the soft pillows.

Raphael made a soft noise with her tongue and took the tea from her, which was starting to slosh around in the cup every time Audrey's arms shook with laughter.

"I fear," the angel said, her face pulled into what Audrey thought was an exaggerated grimace, "I fear that I have spoiled you, little one."

* * *

><p>It didn't take Audrey too long to nag her way outside, although she had to admit, Raphael did put up one hell of the fight. The angel had come dangerously close to getting huffy as she attempted to coax her patient into acquiescence. She cajoled and threatened and even begged a little, doing everything in her power to get Audrey's mind off what she termed a "poor idea".<p>

Audrey, on the other hand, had confidence in her corner, and a solid seventeen years experience in the subtle art of manipulation. And persistence, she felt, was her finest attribute. She nagged, she bitched, she moaned. She teased Raphael relentlessly and bedeviled her and used absolutely every trick in the book to get her way, which was the only way she really knew.

In the end, she wasn't all that surprised when the angel assented, quite literally throwing up her hands in an expression of her sour mood.

"If you die," she told Audrey as she gingerly carried her out of the house and onto the porch, "if you dare die after all my hard work, I will _not_ be sorry."

"Yeah, you will," Audrey replied, allowing some of her treasured snottiness to seep through. She was intent on relishing in her triumph, even though her body seemed to have other plans. Raphael had wrapped her in no less than three blankets and she took care to cushion the wooden porch swing with a couple of pillows. Once enthroned on her sea of fleece and down, Audrey had to admit to herself that her bed was _much_ more comfortable. She was the Princess and the Pea, feeling each and every one of the slats in the swing dig into her shoulders through a ridiculous mound of pillows and comforters. But she'd be damned if she would ever let her discomfort show.

Smiling graciously at the angel, Audrey pretended that the rickety swing was as comfy as a cloud. "See," she told Raphael, who had started to pace the length of the porch, "was that so hard?"

The angel glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, the tendrils of her disheveled hair framing her face and making her look like a beleaguered housewife. "You have one half hour," she warned. "And I am counting."

_I'll make it 45, at least_, Audrey thought, but said nothing. Instead, she turned her attention to the sketchpad and pencils tucked safely on her lap. This moment, she realized, was something of a blessing. And Audrey had never actually considered herself even close to blessed before.

Taking some time to clear her head, she looked around, soaking up the scenery that she had long been denied. Raphael was right, Audrey thought as she watched the heavy fog curl itself around the snowy peaks in the distance. It _was_ cold. The air itself was thick and humid, the clouds swollen with the promise of rain. Audrey could see her breath and as she wrapped her fingers around one of the pencils, her flesh tingled with a promising numbness. The frigid air filled her lungs.

So what if it was cold? she told herself, properly admiring, for the first time, the magnificent view she had from the porch. She'd probably never get a chance like this again, to sit by herself with a sketchpad, protected and sheltered by the woods, the scent of pine lending heady aspirations to her thoughts. The cold was almost worth it, along with the mist that kissed her cheeks and dampened her brow. This moment was beautiful and she would probably never see another one like it, not in her limited lifetime, at least.

For a second, she envied Raphael's agelessness, but then thought better of it. Mortality made things seem more precious, after all.

For the better part of a half hour Audrey sat on the porch swing and sketched what she saw, the mountains, the trees, the weather-beaten, speckled wood columns that supported the roof overhead. She was drawn to pastel colors and selected her palette carefully, working in soothing grays and mint greens and tepid, watery blues. And when she felt that she had gotten all that she could out of the landscape, when she had drawn the furrowed brown bark of a nearby tree and used a soft hand to carefully mimic the blanketing fog on the mountains, she turned her attention to Raphael.

The angel was sitting in the most absurd position, perched on the porch railing like a bird, her wings folded by her shoulders, her hands hanging between her knees. Audrey thought it must be terribly uncomfortable to sit like that, although it did highlight the long, tapered feathers of her left wing.

Inspiration struck. Audrey turned to a clean page in her sketchpad, selecting a charcoal grey pencil. She began to draw.

But Raphael was nothing if not perceptive. Audrey had just finished the basic outline of her body when the angel hopped off the railing, her heavy boots thundering across the wooden floorboards.

"May I see?" she asked, her tone all too demanding.

Audrey made a face. "It's not finished yet."

Raphael raised a brow. "I do not mind." Bending slightly, she leaned over Audrey to look at the sketch. Her mouth twitched. "How original."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Audrey shot back, feeling suddenly self-conscious. She dropped her arm defensively over the sketchpad, her pencils rolling down onto her lap.

Raphael grinned tightly. "Do you know how many humans have drawn angels over the ages? It is most repetitive. Botticelli tried it, and in my opinion, he failed. Miserably."

Audrey glared, annoyed by this unexpected burst of snarkiness from the otherwise subdued Raphael. "Yeah well, did he draw angels from life?" she asked.

Raphael raised both her eyebrows, seemed on the verge of saying something, but then turned away. She walked down the porch steps and planted herself on the top one, her wings scraping some of the already chipped paint off the floor.

It began to rain.

_That shut her up_, Audrey thought. But then she felt a subconscious pang of guilt, which made her face fold into a frown. Raphael had probably gone through a lot of trouble to get her her art supplies and she might have only been curious about Audrey's sketching. As it was, she didn't always come across as warm and cuddly, but she definitely had tried to make things pleasant.

Without thinking, Audrey stuck the end of one of the pencils in her mouth and chewed. It was a two-way street, their relationship, and so far, Raphael had been doing all the heavy work. Audrey, on the other hand, had quite literally sat back and acted as grumpy as possible.

And it would be nice, she thought, to see the angel laugh again, like she had the day before. Laugh freely and carelessly. Laugh as though she weren't miserable, as Audrey knew she was. Laugh as though Gabriel hadn't said those cruel things to her…

Audrey exhaled through her nose, closing her teeth over the pencil that dangled from her lips. _Crunch!_ She gasped and pulled the splintered end out of her mouth.

"Shit." Audrey dropped the pencil back onto her lap, looking up quickly to see if Raphael had heard her.

But the angel was still sitting on the edge of the porch, rain pinging off her wings. Her forearms were dappled with moisture and her messy hair was plastered across her brow.

Audrey thought she looked awfully sad, hunched over on the steps. Keeping her eyes on Raphael, she reached for another pencil and began to move it over the paper, the distinct curves and planes of the angel's body taking shape as her fingers moved, guiding the graphite along the sheet of white.

"You all right?" Audrey asked, though she hated to interrupt the peaceful moment.

Raphael looked over her shoulder, her wings twitching. "I am well," she replied.

"You shouldn't lie," Audrey replied. She knew she was baiting the tiger, but she couldn't help it. Her mood was feverish and something in her couldn't bear to see Raphael sitting there so glum, especially since she wasn't able to shake her own feelings of blame.

Audrey was reminded of all the times she had seen her mom and dad miserable. All the times she would walk into the kitchen and find her mom crying over a glass of red wine. All the times she would pass through the upstairs hallway and notice her dad, bent over the computer screen in his home office, pretending to stare at a spreadsheet, but really looking at nothing. Audrey had never interfered in her parents' war, which seemed private, some obscure, abstract matter designated for adults alone. But even then, awash in her carefree adolescence, she had been unable to escape the prickling feeling of guilt, the pang of conscience that told her she had a part in it too and that she couldn't just walk away.

It was a lot of responsibility for a seventeen-year-old to carry around, she knew, but her parents' marriage had been like a poison. It spread, it infected, it filled all the minuscule crevices in her life until her body and soul were saturated with their venom. Without realizing it, Audrey had allowed her parents hate to define her. She had taken on their dysfunction like a second skin. She saw the world through the eyes of a wounded child. And when she looked at Raphael now and witnessed her sadness, it resonated within her. The echo of the angel's sorrow touched Audrey, rippled amongst her own grief and left her drowning, yes, _drowning…_

But maybe, naivety told her, maybe she could fix Raphael. And if Raphael could be fixed, then Audrey wouldn't have to see what she didn't want to in her.

She wouldn't have to see her parents again. And again. And again.

_Please, please, no more. _

Audrey rested the side of her hand on the paper. She couldn't pass this by. She had to stop it.

"Are you thinking about Gabriel?" she asked Raphael timidly. What was she doing? God, oh God, why was she doing this?

The angel turned, her neck twisting, one of her hands resting on the porch step behind her. The corners of her mouth dipped, pulling droplets of rainwater down her cheeks. "Yes," she said. "Sometimes."

"All the time, I bet," Audrey replied. "But that's okay, you know? It's natural."

"Oh," Raphael said. She was a mess, sitting there in the rain.

There was something slightly masochistic about her passive behavior, Audrey decided. She missed Raphael's energy, the wild spark of life she had seen the day before, the defiance, which somehow mirrored her own.

Her stomach churned and she glanced down at her drawing. A splotch of water had diluted some of the grey on Raphael's right wing. Audrey put her finger over the smudge and tried to wipe it away. She realized that she was tampering with something that should probably be left alone. She was disturbing not only Raphael's pain, but her own, stirring up all the soreness and the aches that she had wearily nursed over the years, the blame that she had hidden, the accusations that had haunted her.

In a strange way, Audrey had always felt that she was the source of her parents awful relationship. She knew that often times, when people got divorced, their kids blamed themselves for what had happened. Her parents had managed to stay together, but that didn't make the guilt any less real.

Because, maybe, just _maybe_ it was her fault. Her parents had fought constantly over her and now Raphael and Gabriel were fighting over her. It seemed like a trick. An unfair, unfortunate twist of fate. The implication stung Audrey, burdened her with painful vulnerability until she could only sit wrapped in her blankets and shiver. The world was cold. It was unfriendly. And she could only drown in the emptiness.

Audrey's guilt doubled when she saw Raphael all by herself. All of sudden, she felt that it was absolutely necessary that the angel know she was appreciated, that her bratty little charge could, in fact, be grateful. It might not completely compensate for the lousiness of the situation, but it couldn't hurt.

"So…I don't think I ever really thanked you for getting me this stuff," she said, cringing as the words came out of her mouth. They sounded so patronizing, so fake.

Raphael dipped her chin in a nod. "You are welcome, but I cannot take the credit."

Audrey looked down at the pencil in her hand. "Wait, what do you mean? You're not the one who found these things?"

"No."

"Then who was it?" Audrey had a terrible suspicion that she was going to say Gabriel.

Raphael blinked, the wind blowing rain into her eyes. "Uriel did," she said. "He brought the sketchpad and the pencils last night while you were still asleep."

The breeze stirred again, causing the edge of her page to flutter wildly. Audrey yelped as more rain splattered her paper. The droplets were cold on her hands and she found herself wishing for gloves.

"Uriel," she said, rolling around the unfamiliar name in her mouth. "Don't tell me there's another angel hanging around here."

She was surprised when she saw the skin around Raphael's mouth creased. Was she possibly smiling? Was she?

"An archangel," Raphael corrected. "And yes, he visited me last night. You would like Uriel, I believe. He is kind and gentle. Father made him that way. Although I must say, he is unreasonably shy around humans. I tried to convince him to meet with you. It would be beneficial to you both, I think."

Shy around humans? Audrey dropped her pencil and selected another, a dark, smooth blue which would do nice for shading. How could an angel be shy around humans? The concept was totally foreign to her. Nothing about Raphael or Michael or even Gabriel seemed _shy_. In fact, they were a bit too concerned with human affairs for her liking. Michael seemed to have a habit of poking his nose into earthly matters on a regular basis and Raphael certainly hadn't hesitated when she had appointed herself Audrey's unofficial doctor and guardian. And Gabriel, well…She scrunched up her face, her thin brows jumping together. She did not really want to think about Gabriel, who seemed rather unpopular with both angels and humans lately.

Audrey's frown deepened. It was better, she realized, to think of an angel like Uriel, a gentle creature who apparently knew exactly what type of art supplies she needed.

"Why don't you tell him that I want to thank him for the gift," she said. "Would he say no to meeting me then?"

Raphael rolled her head around on her neck, the rainwater leaking down over her iron collar. "It depends, although I must say, Uriel usually listens to me. He is the youngest."

"Of what?" Audrey prompted. She felt as though she needed to hold onto this conversation. It was her lifeline, a point of focus, something to could grasp and cling to, something that would keep her from drowning.

_Drowning. _

Sadness was universal. Changeable. Audrey had been depressed once…and now. She almost wanted to tell Raphael that she was not alone in her sorrow, but it wouldn't matter. Dropping her blue pencil back into the box, she selected a new one, a pinkish-beige and tried to distract herself by coloring in Raphael's cheeks. "Of what?" she repeated, hating the flatness in her tone.

Raphael ran a hand over her bare arms, skimming off the sheen of rain. "The archangels," she replied. "Uriel is the youngest of us."

Her head was lifted now and she looked out over the lake. Audrey followed her gaze and saw small waves rising, lapping at the silt and pebbles onshore. The noise the tiny swells made was muted, not like the roaring thunder of the ocean when it raced relentlessly up the beach when the tide was high. Audrey remembered having a pair of her favorite sandals washed away by a freak wave at a public beach in L.A. a few years back. She wasn't a fan of beaches, or water, for that matter.

She chewed on her lip, listening to the gentle rush of the rain. The world was still and soft around her, blurred by the heavy clouds that trailed fog over the mountains and dropped mist over the trees. And Raphael was still there, sitting on the porch step, talking about Uriel, just talking, and her words were a silken web. A lullaby.

This life was different, Audrey decided. It wasn't like it had been. It wasn't having two parents that fought constantly. It wasn't taking those long walks down by the golf course to get out of the house and away from them. It wasn't like sitting by that lake and seeing the water and putting rocks in her pockets. It wasn't drowning…it wasn't…

"I think I hate my parents," Audrey blurted out, shocked by the rage in her voice, which was raw and volatile.

"What?" Raphael looked entirely flummoxed. She twisted around, her face barely visible over the crook of her wing.

Audrey flushed, realizing how childish her words had sounded, although they came from some deeper place, a hidden well inside her that had sprung a leak and was now flooding her body. "I don't know," she said. "I think I hate them, Raphael."

Silence. A dreadful, frozen quiet. It was the stillness of dreams. It was that crushing, suffocating nightmare that she couldn't wake from, that couldn't scream her way out of. The rain had reached Audrey's eyes, giving her droplets of her own on her cheeks. She lay back against the pillows and felt her sickness grow.

Raphael stood, her unkempt hair dripping down her shoulders in folds of liquid black. She held her hands in loose fists, her fingers curled against her palms. "We're going inside now," she said.

Audrey sighed, drawing her arms up against her chest. The pencil she was holding fell and rolled across the wooden floorboards of the porch with a hollow sound. "It's confusing," she said. "I don't even know what I'm thinking about. I'm trying to sit here and draw and be happy and look at the mountains, but then there's this other stuff. It's there, Raphael. It's there…why can't I just get rid of it already?"

"Enough." Raphael was firm as she approached her, a pillar of much needed strength. "I knew," she said, "that taking you outside was a poor idea."

"No," Audrey sniffled. Her nose was running and she had absolutely no choice but to wipe it on her shirtsleeve. "No, you don't understand."

"I don't." Raphael crouched by the swing and picked up the pencil where it had fallen. Carefully, she laid it back on Audrey's lap. "Explain it to me."

"Oh God." Audrey fussed with the pencil, tried to fit it back in the box. Her chest was filled with a fluttery sort of panic, a driving fear that made her feel dizzy and brought the taste of blood into her mouth.

"It's like," she said, "it's like here we are, having this nice conversation and then all of sudden, everything just stops. Everything just crashes down on top of me and I'm thinking about stuff I don't want to remember and I'm acting all psycho, crying for no reason."

"There is usually a reason," Raphael coaxed.

"But it's easier to think about you and Gabriel and pretend that you life is as fucked up as mine," Audrey said, not bothering to excuse her profanity.

Raphael, for her part, didn't seem to mind.

"I'd rather concentrate on that," Audrey admitted, hating the way her voice sounded, tiny and small and whimpering. "I'd rather worry about your worries, because it's not connected to me. But I can't do that, because I'm starting to think that what's going with you is not so different from what went on with me and I just…I just can't get away from it."

"Away from what?"

"My parents," she sobbed, feeling the release, the painful wrenching of the truth from its secret hiding place. "My parents…and me. They used to fight all the time, like you and Gabriel. And I had to live through it, for seventeen years. I had to live through it, but then I decided I didn't want to, anymore."

Raphael's eyes widened when she spoke and Audrey hated her expression, the concern mixed with confusion, the condescending sympathy. Audrey frowned and slapped the cover of her sketchpad closed. Her cheeks were hot with embarrassment, that wild shame that put a scarlet letter on her breast and branded her as a failure, a real fuck-up. She had something nice here and she'd ruined it.

"You're right," she said, stacking the box of pencils over her sketchpad. "I want to go inside now."

Raphael's hand fell over her arm. "Wait."

"No, just forget it," Audrey replied, her teeth gritted. "I'm being a huge spoiled brat. You said so yourself. I'm whining and throwing a tantrum because I can."

"Don't belittle yourself." Raphael draped her other arm over Audrey's lap, positioning herself so that she faced her patient. "I want you to look at me."

"This is melodramatic bullcrap," Audrey replied, although her tone was already weepy. "I don't need a therapy session right now." She paused, her resolve withering under Raphael's gaze, which was stronger than she ever imagined. The wind was rising in the trees and branches knocked together, sounding like hollowed-out bones. Audrey glanced over the angel's shoulder and saw the lake. Waves, there were waves.

"You remind me of them," she said slowly. "My parents, I mean. It's not so different, the way you fight with Gabriel. God, I wish it was different."

Raphael pressed her lips together. "A reflection," she said, "is almost never shallow. I am sorry you have seen something you abhor in Gabriel and myself."

"But it's my fault," Audrey protested, "for seeing it that way. For seeing my parents in everything. I wanted to get away from it, you know. From always seeing my life through them and their marriage. It wasn't my problem, I know, but tell that to a kid who has to hear their shit everyday, who has to know that the people who created her probably hate each other. That was what really got to me. I thought children were supposed to be born in love, but then I realized that my parents weren't in love. It wasn't something I figured out right away, but after a while, after hearing them fight. And then one night, when I was thinking about it, I went for a walk down by the lake at the golf course by myself and I put rocks in my pockets and I tried to drown myself."

Audrey's voice cut off. She stopped. The rainstorm, which had once been so clamorous, seemed silent now. Audrey watched a stream of water rushing off the porch roof. It made mud of the dirt walkway. It pummeled the earth and gathered into a narrow puddles. She felt Raphael's hands lying limply on top of hers. The angel smelled faintly of wood smoke and tea.

Audrey breathed in and almost expected to find water in her lungs again, to feel the weight of the rocks in her pajama pants pockets pulling her down. The lake hadn't been deep, but it was deep enough and she remembered the way the light from the nearby streetlamp had looked from underneath. Wavering, shining, shimmering. It was the last thing she thought she'd ever see…

"I freaked out," Audrey said, the words cluttering in her throat, jumbling together as she tried to get them out quickly. "I was only in the water for a few seconds, really. As soon as my head went under I realized, you know, what a stupid little bitch I was-"

"Do not say that," Raphael interrupted quietly. Her voice was current of warmth in the cold.

"I pretty much pulled myself out of the water right away," Audrey continued. "I dumped the rocks out of my pockets, they weren't even that heavy, just some gravel I found by the sidewalk. I think I sat on a bench by the pro shop for like an hour afterwards. I was hoping to dry off, but it wasn't really a warm night. During my walk home, I kept trying to invent lies to tell my parents about why I was so wet, but when I got inside, my mom was asleep and my dad was in his office. I just went to bed. I just went to sleep."

"Oh," Raphael said and that was all. And even though the angel was silent, even though she kept her mouth closed and looked at her patient with eyes that were shut as well, Audrey felt embraced. It was a long, lingering feeling. It was something that wrapped around her, more secure and warm than the blankets she had piled around her shoulders, more loving, even, than the circle of her own mother's arms.

Raphael didn't say anything, she didn't say anything at all and Audrey knew she didn't need to.

There was more to this silence than the dubious promise of empty words. There was acceptance. There was no judgment. There was…love.

_Maybe_, Audrey thought. _Maybe love. _She remembered her own mother, who had tried to love her daughter, but couldn't listen, who had kept her heart open but her mind locked and so lived just beyond Audrey's reach. But this closeness with Raphael was tangible. It was a material thing, something Audrey could brush her fingers against, something she could feel. She wanted to keep this blessing, which she felt was rare.

Love, couldn't she have this love?

Slowly, Audrey felt the flush fade from her cheeks and she was cold again. The angel's palms were damp against hers and Audrey remembered the feel of the grass beneath her hands when she'd pulled herself out of the lake. Like wet, stringy hair. Without thinking, she reached up and touched one of Raphael's sopping tresses. Her hair was surprisingly wiry, not smooth. There were knots in the shaft of the strand.

"Maybe I was supposed to tell you this," she said, finding comfort in her own reassurances. "I never told anyone else and I used to lie to myself about it. I'd call myself a drama queen, a loser, a coward. It kind of made it easier to ignore, then. If I called myself a basket case, then maybe I really wasn't one. But all that time, all that time in-between then and now, I thought about telling people. My mom mostly. I used play out these scenarios in my head, how she would react. The sad thing is, I don't think she'd have believed me. Towards the end, she never believed anything I said."

Audrey paused. She wasn't sure if she had the right to say what she wanted to, but she said it anyway. "Raphael," Audrey whispered, "I wish _you _were my mom."

A pause. A terrible, terrible pause.

Slowly, the angel's hands slipped away from hers. And just like that, the blessing was withdrawn. "Inside," Raphael said. "We are going inside."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thanks for reading! If you have a spare moment, please do leave me a review. I absolutely adore any and all feedback. Your reviews always make my week. ^_^

In the next chapter, Gabriel extends the olive branch to his wife. Raphael hesitates to accept it. Chapter thirteen is in the works and should be posted in about two weeks. Until then, take care and be well!


	13. Chapter Thirteen Bloodletting

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter thirteen of "Rebirth". As always, I have to thank all my dedicated readers and reviewers, **saichick **and **PhotoMunky**. Also, I would like to sincerely thank everyone who has added this story to their favorites/author alerts list. Your support is truly inspiring. I do hope you enjoy this installment. ^_^

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Thirteen Bloodletting **

Over the next few days, Raphael tried desperately to maintain the status quo in their tiny household. She indulged the Audrey's whims and came dangerously close to spoiling her. As time progressed and her patient's temperament improved, Raphael began to sense that her young charge was much more capricious then she had first realized. Audrey was a demanding dependent. She claimed Raphael's attention with all the skill of a seasoned conqueror. She was spiteful and surprisingly whimsical. She liked to badger the archangel, and without complaint, Raphael allowed herself to be badgered.

The back and forth between them, the testing of limits and boundaries, proved to be a healthy distraction for them both. Raphael knew that there was very little she could do to ease Audrey's pain. And she also knew that her lasting wish for motherhood could never be sated, even through daily pantomime of family life that they had somehow created. Their existence was, at best, a very solid ruse, one that was complete enough to beguile them into false tranquility, and finally, forgetfulness.

During the day, Raphael dedicated herself to Audrey. She listened to the girl and posed for her sketching sessions. She brought her tea and small meals to strengthen her fragile human body. She rubbed lotions into Audrey's feet and calves, hoping to restore circulation to her atrophied muscles. She let the child brush and braid her hair, because Audrey found it amusing. And Raphael, also, liked to be amused.

Where their days were wasted on petty delights, the nights were dark. Raphael had the evenings largely to herself and she never dared to disturb Audrey while she slept, not even to wake her from her obvious nightmares. Instead, Raphael spent her time in silent guardianship. Occasionally, she would risk a small venture to a nearby town, where she would raid the shelves of an abandoned general store for much needed supplies and foodstuffs. It was hard work keeping a human alive and happy and healthy. It was hard work, but Raphael knew it was worth it.

On one night in particular, however, when the low-lying, foggy clouds made flying too difficult, the angel found herself restless. She was working in the kitchen, stacking a few washed dishes in the cabinet. The window over the sink was left open and Raphael enjoyed listening to the noises of the night woods. Owls were moving in the trees. She could hear the silken flutter of their wings.

Reaching to place a soup bowl on the uppermost shelf, she paused, her senses snared by an unusual perfume. The scent was verdant. It spoke of sun-warmed grass and budding branches and life, life reborn. Raphael put the bowl in its place, thinking of springtime and flowers. For a moment, the strong grasp of winter loosened and the world became gentle.

And the smell, the pleasant incense, remained. Lingered. It filled all the aching holes in her heart and patched up the rough turbulence in her mind. Raphael turned, her wings brushing the granite surface of the kitchen counter. There was a bouquet of lavender lilacs sitting on the windowsill. Someone had left them for her.

_Gabriel._

It shamed her to admit that she felt ill at ease, her skin prickling as the ferocious blast of winter returned. Crossing the kitchen, she plucked the flowers off the window sill, her fingers tingling as they stretched out into the open night air. The tiny, tear-sized petals were still warm, still infused with the blessings of Eden from whence they had come. Raphael pressed the bouquet to her breasts and let her nose touch the tops of the lilacs. They smelled, ah yes, they smelled like home.

And he was her home, or at least he had been. Raphael shivered. She knew what was coming. Leaning forward, she looked out the open window and searched for him. Gabriel was waiting for her in the backyard, by the tree line.

Raphael immediately withdrew. She was tempted to snap the window shut and thus show him that she was still holding onto her anger, but her weariness was too treacherous. She could continue to fight, even without any energy. She could entrench herself in resentment, let her rage tower over her like a fortress and vow not to let him breach it. But that was a waste, wasn't it? That was foolish and stubborn. That was unnecessary. That was not love.

Turning from the window, Raphael decided that approaching Gabriel wouldn't necessarily mean she had forgiven him. It could mean something else, both to him and to her. She stood in the center of the kitchen and looked out into the darkened living room, where the last of the night's fire had fallen to cinders in the hearth. The lilacs were soft and smooth against her breasts, like a warm cheek pressed right up against her heart.

Raphael stiffened. She was surprised when she was filled with longing.

"Steady," she muttered, her lips moving over the petals, her voice low and dry. She tried not to let trepidation hinder her as she walked through the hall out to the backyard. Gabriel stayed a respectful distance away when she emerged from the house, most of his face and figure obscured by the long shadows of the pine trees.

Raphael strolled down the gravel pathway, stopping only a few feet away from him. She dropped her hands and held her bouquet at waist-level, an expectant bride.

"Thank you," she said. "For the lilacs."

Gabriel moved into the muted light of the bewitched moon. The corners of his mouth rose and Raphael was surprised to see that he seemed nervous.

Her stomach clenched.

"I brought them from our home," he said, his words running together in a hectic jumble. It was the first time he had ever sounded ineloquent to her. "They are in bloom now. I wish you had not missed them."

His earnestness overwhelmed her. Raphael shifted her bouquet from one hand to the other. She was tired, God, dear Father, she was tired. And yet, unwelcome adrenalin coursed through body, filling her with a jittery sort of tension that mirrored Gabriel's unease.

She knew what was coming. She sensed it. There were many painful things in life, even for angels, but she was bracing herself for a new kind of agony now. The threat of this conversation had lingered in the back of her mind ever since she had last parted from her husband in anger. The echo of their cruel words hung in the air between them. It was hard for Raphael, desperately hard, to gaze at Gabriel and see beyond the pall that had been cast over their marriage. She wondered if things would ever be the same again.

No. Probably not.

Raphael looked askance, quietly mourning the past, which seemed so beautiful to her now that it was lost. The lilacs hung limply from her hand.

"Please." Gabriel took a frantic step towards her. She saw him raise his arm, but she knew he didn't dare touch her. "I am not certain," he admitted, "what it is I wish to say to you…why I even came here. It hurts you to look at me, doesn't it? I've caused you more pain."

"Yes," Raphael confessed, a sigh swelling inside her. "But I think I know you well enough to see that you feel the same. We have that in common, at least."

"Do you wish me to leave?" he asked.

Raphael noticed his reluctance, saw how his eyes narrowed when he spoke. She bit down on her lip until she drew blood. The warmth of it pooled against her teeth.

"No," she said. "But I hate what is happening. I am not brave, Gabriel. I am not like you. I do not think I can bear this."

"Resilience." His wings lifted slightly, the powerful muscles in his shoulders bunching. "I have always cherished your fortitude. It is bright. It shines. Even the girl, Audrey, has recognized it."

"Let us not speak of Audrey," Raphael was quick to add. He had touched upon something raw and it made her wince. "Not yet."

Gabriel bowed his head. The pale moonlight had stolen his brilliance from him, left him with watery shadows that masked his face and made a stranger of him.

Raphael glanced at a puddle on the ground near her feet, the rainwater having frosted over. She tried to catch sight her reflection but couldn't. _How_, she wondered_, must I look to him?_

The backyard behind the house suddenly seemed too small to accommodate them. Raphael fluttered her wings. The air stirred, then fell flat and the night was unrepentantly still.

"Come with me to the lake," she offered, yearning for movement, for words and deeds that were not stale. "We can walk and I will speak with you, although I almost wish I could live in silence. This conversation, I fear, will not be kind."

Gabriel flinched, one of his heavy hands tightening into a fist. "I repent of everything I said," he replied. "Let me atone."

"Calm," Raphael soothed. She almost reached out and touched him, almost brushed her fingers over her brow to smooth away the lines of worry. "We must both be calm."

But Gabriel wasn't able to restrain himself. "I came to apologize," he said, the words bursting from him in a frenzy that was frightening for its passion.

Raphael found that she missed his usual reserve, his stoicism, but she wouldn't tell him that. "I have not asked for anything from you yet," she said.

Gabriel shook his head. The veins in his neck bulged, holding back what she thought might be a sob. "That is what I fear," he said. "That is what I've only ever feared."

* * *

><p>The shores of the lake were soft with sand and clay. Half-rotten logs jutted out into the water. The moss on the stones shone black in the veiled moonlight. Raphael hated the tremulous feeling that struck against her heart every time the wind shook the tree boughs. She was haunted, pursued by the phantoms of her own mind, which were cunning and persistent. The beauty of the landscape, of the old forest and the towering mountains, began to fade, and she saw the world for what it was. Dark. Dank. Decayed.<p>

It was cold that night and it misted, a fine sheen of moisture rising off the lake to chill her bare skin. Raphael was beginning to feel worn down. She pressed the lilacs close to her chest, reminding herself of the embracing warmth she had known in her home, the very home she was too proud to admit that she missed. But the longing was insidious. It weakened her. She was the stone eroded, crushed, shattered. She was the lost little pebbles of broken rock that lined the shore. She was adrift on the low waves, fearing what lay before her.

And how had it come to this, she wondered, that she should be frightened to speak with her own husband? How had she ever let it come to this?

Raphael decided not to guess at her failings. They would make themselves clear, in time. Instead, she allowed the silence to rest thick between Gabriel and her as they walked around the lake. She let uneasiness be the norm.

But Gabriel, she knew, was never content with imbalance. After they had moved out of the reaching light of the cabin, strolling a few hundred yards away from the hovel that was indeed an outpost in the wilderness, he showed signs of regaining his confidence. Keeping abreast of Raphael, he shifted to the left, his warm flank pressing against her shoulder.

At first, she wanted to shun the physical contact, which seemed unworthy. But it was hard to ignore the comfort his closeness brought. Raphael had been fortunate. She had never wanted for affection over the years, but had always welcomed his attention. His inherent tenderness, which seemed at odds with his powerful body, belonged to her and her alone, and she couldn't scorn that most blessed gift.

Leaning to the right, Raphael rested her shoulder against his side and their steps evened, moving in unison. It was a taste of Paradise. It was a reminder of all that had been lost…

Raphael mourned. She mourned.

When they came to the first bend in the lake, the basin of water curving away from the forest, Gabriel paused. He was standing by a boulder that came up to his waist and he stretched his hand out onto the stone. Raphael stared at his fingers. They were long and thick. She clenched her hands into fists and felt her the weakness in her own flesh.

Gabriel took a deep breath. His chest rose beneath his cuirass. "Several days ago," he said, "the things Michael and I said to you-"

"No," she interrupted him. "We will not speak of that. It is useless."

"You think there is no hope?" Gabriel asked. His tone was steady, but the wideness of his eyes betrayed his worry.

For some reason, Raphael felt the burning desire to ease his fear. One of them, at least, should be at peace. "This is not related to hope," she said, "but I do not think it would help us to relive words of anger. That moment in the cabin several days ago…we were not at our most rational."

He lowered his head. "Agreed."

"There are other matters here," Raphael continued, "that press more heavily on my soul. What we did the other day, with our hot tempers, was not truthful. It was only the evidence of what lies within, the unspoken things…the things we have kept hidden, unconsciously or not."

"I never wanted to hide anything from you," Gabriel said.

Raphael admired his sincerity. It made her smile. "I know. But it remains, the hidden remains. And I think the only way we can free ourselves is to purge the sickness. Did you know that human healers-doctors-had a practice of bloodletting? When the body fell victim to disease or some malign intemperance, they would bleed their patients, hoping to rid the flesh of the illness…remove the poison. The treatment wasn't truly beneficial, but I have always marveled at the logic. It has come to this now, Gabriel. We must bleed ourselves dry. I will admit, I fear this. I am terrified. But what else is there?"

He grimaced faintly, a line of consternation crossing his forehead. "You have always been wise," Gabriel said.

"Do not flatter me," she countered, surprised when her lip curled with ready anger. "I do not hold with flattery."

Gabriel turned his head to the side. "It wasn't flattery."

Raphael felt the muscles in her jaw tense. She ran her tongue along her teeth, hitting the sore spot where she had bit her lip. "It would be best," she said, "if you went first. After all, you were the one who sought me out."

He raised a brow.

Raphael, however, remained undeterred. "I am listening," she said, pushing herself forward on the balls of her feet. "And waiting."

"You've become demanding of late," Gabriel said. His submissive pose, the lowered chin, the wide eyes, gave way in favor of a closed expression. He raised his head and his eyes caught the faded moonlight. They were pale, clear and yet it worried Raphael that she could not see what lay behind them, what lurked in his soul.

Was he guarding himself against her? Was he pulling away already?

"I appreciate your honesty," she said, hoping to encourage him. In the forest nearby, a tree branch snapped, a hunting owl swooping to the ground. Raphael wasn't sure, but she thought she heard the pitiful squeak of a mouse as it was caught up in the bird's talons.

Her heart thudded loudly in her chest. Oh, how she hated to see little things suffer.

"Give me a moment," Gabriel said. He was clearly considering.

"You have it," Raphael offered, although in the end, he did not take it.

"Why did you fear my quarrel with Michael?" he asked at once, his hesitance dispelled.

And Raphael couldn't help it. She found that she loved his certainty, his self-assuredness. He was so wonderfully different from Michael, who had a tendency to be arrogant. Gabriel bore his confidence with grace, and his esteem suited him. Raphael's lips curved. She remembered all the times she had been proud of him, then…and now.

"I feared your quarrel," she replied, taking her time, arranging the words in her mind before she delivered them in a vaporous cloud of breath, "because I love you both."

"But love can withstand," Gabriel said. "And it has. I still love Michael. He is my brother. What else is it that you fear?"

He wasn't making this easy, but perhaps it wasn't meant to be. Raphael stirred. She crossed the short space between them and leaned up against the boulder, feeling the slick moisture on her feathers. She laid her head on the stone and tried to calm the frantic beating of her heart. This moment was going by too fast, it was slipping through her fingers, falling away. And although she feared the sorrow, feared the pain, she wanted it to last. This might be their only chance and salvation was fleeing.

"What do I fear?" she said, her fingers nestling in the crevices of the stone. Without thinking, she traced lines of angelic script, thinking of Michael and his strange markings. "I suppose I feared that it would end. That was the worst of it. Seeing, sensing what was to come. I never wanted it to end, but it did. I was weak and I wasn't meant to stop it. Why did He make me weak?"

Gabriel shifted, angling his body so that he could look at her. His shoulder slumped against the boulder, his wings tucked behind him. "Two matters you put to me," he said, "and in my mind, they are dissimilar."

"Then speak of the first," she said. "Why did it end?"

Gabriel's mouth pinched, folding into a confused frown. "I am perplexed."

"My phrasing is vague," Raphael admitted. She straightened, planting one booted foot near the root of the stone. "I am speaking of us, the three of us. We were content with each other once and now all is in…chaos."

"A bit dramatic," Gabriel said, but he let her continue.

Raphael felt daunted. Her cheeks warmed, heat prickling her flesh like sharp hail. "I always wanted there to be peace between us, but there is no peace to be had. I hate disruption. I hate change. And things have changed. Things will never go back to the way they were, before…before all this. That is what I feared, perhaps. Not so much the quarrel as they consequences of it. I can no longer have what I took comfort in."

Gabriel ducked his head. He swallowed. Raphael sensed that the tension was building, rising, pushing against them both. She felt a weight in her chest and her ribs ached viciously. "Do you understand?" she asked.

Gabriel's eyes flickered. "I do," he replied at length. "And I acknowledge the change, the disruption. It does not matter, I suppose, that it couldn't be helped. I wish with all my heart that your fears were not realized."

Raphael clutched the bouquet of lilacs tighter. A few loose petals fell from the buds over her hand. "They have been," she said.

Gabriel sniffed. A glimmer of moonlight betrayed the laxness of his face, his jaw loose ad trembling, his resolve weakened. "I am sorry for that," he said.

Raphael stayed silent. His apology wasn't much, but she would take something from it. She crossed her arms over her middle, the flowers dangling from her right hand. The humid air made her mind slow, sluggish and she was numb. But numbness, she knew, meant failure. She had not gone deep enough yet. Neither of them had. Once more, she touched her tongue to her tender lip. Something cold and slippery swam around in her stomach. Raphael wondered what it was like brave. Gabriel was brave and she loved him for it. _Love_. The thought steadied her. There was a reason for all this and it was love.

"It is my turn, I believe," Raphael said.

Gabriel's head jerked slightly. His eyes seemed to sink into his skull. He appeared alone then, a solitary figure lost to the thick fog. For a moment, Raphael nearly forget herself. The role of Healer was ingrained in her spirit, carved into the lines of her soul. She wanted to hold him. She wanted to heal him.

But the blood still ran thick and fierce, clotted with disease, with the poison they both had wrought. Raphael pretended that she was strong. She put on her mask and pantomimed the part of the stoic.

"When you sent Michael ahead to meet with me, he said a strange thing that was bothersome," Raphael recounted. "He told me that he thought things were changed between us before ever you quarreled with him. I think he wanted to blame me, for he said that nothing was the same after I chose you."

Gabriel was suddenly reticent. "Raphael-"

"Why does he view it as a choice?" She paused, she hesitated, but then she forced herself to continue. "Does he envy our marriage?"

Silence. Raphael already regretted what she had done, setting loose something dangerous into the world, giving life to an insinuation that was best left dead. For some reason, she felt like begging for forgiveness.

Gabriel shook his head. She thought he was going to dismiss her outright, but then he broke the barrier. Her husband reached forward and touched her. He put his hand on her shoulder and Raphael accepted the weight of it. His skin was warm.

"It would not be fair to discuss Michael when he is absent," he said. "Another time, I promise."

Raphael nodded, suppressing what raw emotion had risen in her throat. "That is very judicious," she said.

"To make up for my gross unfairness, of late," he said, berating himself.

"Is that why you brought Audrey her art supplies?" Raphael asked.

Gabriel's head shot up. "That was my gift to you," he said, a certain edge of gruffness rendering his tone coarse.

A muscle in Raphael's cheek twitched. For some strange reason, she almost wished that Gabriel had answered differently. It would have meant more to her if hehad brought the gift for Audrey alone.

"She was very pleased," Raphael said, hoping to stoke some of the benign tenderness she knew he possessed. Was there absolutely nothing paternal about him?

"I thought you did not wish to discuss the girl," Gabriel responded.

Raphael flinched. For the first time, she allowed her thoughts to center on the unfulfilled desire she had fiercely repressed. She had carried a heavy burden in her mind over the past few days, the burden of secret loss and denial. If Gabriel was to know her sadness, if he was to feel it as she felt his, then she would have to divulge the final truth.

Closing her eyes, she remembered Audrey sitting on the porch swing, wrapped in her cocoon of blankets. Stringy hair hiding her face. Tear streaks. Her hands so cold, fingers like little icicles.

_Raphael, I wish you were my mom._

There, yes there it was. Raphael's eyes fluttered open and she looked at Gabriel, saw him not as a husband, but as something else.

He was perceptive. His eyes widened in recognition. "Raphael," he warned.

"One more thing," she pleaded. "I still have the sickness within me and it will not leave. I have to know, I have to be brave now and ask you." She paused, the flow of the waves, the rhythm of the wind-stirred water aiding her words. There was only one last question. It lingered on her tongue. It tasted of the blood spilled from her lip. It smelled like lilacs, taken from God's own garden. Raphael trembled and let the question remain hers for a moment longer. She feasted on the promise of it.

But then it was over and she spoke. "Gabriel," Raphael asked, "have you ever wanted us to have a child?"

She knew him well enough to anticipate his reaction. His first argument was logical. "You know that men alone may procreate," he said. "Only Eve and her daughters are fruitful. Only they can-"

"Dismiss wisdom," Raphael urged. She took a step forward and pressed the flowers between them, stood with her toes pushed against his, her heart beating and his responding. "I have no use for it. Just tell me, Gabriel. Tell me."

He met her gaze. His eyes were sad. "No," Gabriel said. "No, I have never wanted us to have a child."

Raphael wept. She burst into tears and sobbed into her hands, the lilacs crushed against her eyes, their fragrance overwhelming, choking. But then she stopped. She reminded herself that what she was doing was unfair. She had asked Gabriel for an honest answer and he had given her one. Shame brought the blood up into her cheeks.

"Forgive me," Raphael said, pulling her hands away from her face. The flowers left a trail of incense in their wake, the scent quiet, a whisper on the damp wind. "Gabriel, do not think that my tears were meant as a reproach. Please, do not-"

But Raphael fell silent when she saw him. She remembered what Uriel had told her a few nights before, how Gabriel had wept, how the fault had been hers…or theirs. Guilt was indiscriminate. It gladly laid claim to them both.

"Have I made you this wretched?" her husband asked.

Raphael felt as though the weight of the world rested on his question. She knew what the truth was, and yet, she could not repay his honesty. There was a blessing to be found in sacrifice, a penance that stung but healed the soul nonetheless. In that moment, Raphael decided that she would rather take the blame for everything, because in the end, she had never wanted him to carry it.

_Strength, _she told herself. _I will be strong…even if no one ever knows of it._

Rubbing the flowers between her palms, Raphael tried to present him with a picture of guilt. "You have not made me sad," she said. "I have the sickness still, yes, but it is _my_ sickness. My fault. Blame me for this, Gabriel. You can blame me."

She was surprised when she saw his relief. It was, for the most part, imperceptible, but she thought she recognized the subtle change in his expression, the hidden light dancing behind his eyes that was alive and not damned by despair. Gabriel opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words slumbered on his tongue. Instead, he bowed his great shoulders, dropped his head until his face was even with Raphael's and touched his lips to hers.

"Let it be finished," he said. His mouth was moving against hers and she felt the wild desperation of his plea. Mindlessly, Raphael raised her hands, the flowers forgotten, falling at her feet, her palms touching the cold metal of his cuirass.

She kissed him. She returned his love in abundance, in a rush of reckless joy that overwhelmed her and overwhelmed him. She lost herself to him. She loosened the ties that held her grief and told herself that she could forget, that she would forget. Now, yes now was the time.

"It is over," Gabriel told her, the tip of his nose hitting her cheek. She turned her head to the side, his mouth brushing the smooth curve of her jaw. Raphael winced. Now was the time. Now, now….but not yet. This shouldn't be. She was still wounded, still bleeding. They both were. _Not yet. _

"Let it be finished," he intoned once more. "Let it be-"

"I can't." She pushed him away, using the weight of her wings to guide her back. His embrace was shattered and Gabriel staggered, losing his balance. She saw him stumble and his outstretched arm hit the boulder, his leather vambrace scraping against unforgiving stone.

And Raphael, she was unforgiving also. _Not yet_, she told herself. _Not yet. _

The air was still and stagnant around her. A definite ache settled in her breast when she realized that she missed him already, because the divide was there again. It had sprung up and conquered them both. She could not reach him again over the yawning gulf and the fault was hers.

_Scornful_, she called herself. _You spurned him. Wretch. Wretch. _

A shaky, sob-laced shy escaped her. Raphael pressed her trembling fingers underneath her chin and tried to hold her head up. Torrid fear conquered her when she saw Gabriel, his majesty diminished, lost to the echo of the ages. Broken, she had willfully broken him.

They stayed in silence for a long time. They in silence for a very long time.

Owls hooted, sent their hunting cries spiraling through the stately trees. The wind rustled through the undergrowth, lifting loose leaves into the air, teasing the lake water. Gabriel looked at her and he was strengthened now only by his anger

"What is it that you want?" he asked. He was panting heavily, guarding himself from the hurt she had caused. "Tell me."

Raphael felt that she could have asked for anything on Heaven and earth and he would have given it to her. Or tried to, at least. But her desire was dead and when she looked at the world, all her longing returned to that sad, wounded little girl who needed a mother. Raphael knew that she couldn't give her what she wanted most, but perhaps there was something else. She looked at her healer's hands and smelled lilacs.

"Intercede for me," she told Gabriel. "Speak to our Lord on my behalf."

Gabriel's shadow lingered behind her, lost in the mist. "To what end?" he asked.

But Raphael was certain that he knew what she was asking. Just as she was certain that he knew she still loved him.

"Not for me," she said. Her hands shook. "For Audrey."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thanks so very much for reading! If you have some free time, please leave a review. I truly appreciate any feedback I receive for this story.

In chapter fourteen, Raphael is called away on an unexpected errand. Audrey spends an afternoon with Uriel and gets a crash course in angelic relationships. The next chapter is in the works and should be posted in roughly ten days. Until then, take care and be well!


	14. Chapter Fourteen The Angelic Angel

**Author's Note: **Welcome to chapter fourteen of "Rebirth". As usual, I would like to thank all my lovely readers and reviewers, **saichick, PhotoMunky, Jenny Joker **and **savyleec**. In addition, I would also like to thank everyone who has taken the time to add this story to their favorites/author alerts list. Your continued support is greatly appreciated. I do hope you enjoy this installment. ^_^

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Fourteen The Angelic Angel **

Audrey was surprised when she noticed the mason jar with lilacs in it sitting on the coffee table that morning. As was becoming their routine, Raphael had carried her out of the bedroom when she woke and set her up on the couch in living room. The curtains on the wide windows were drawn back. The ashes from last night's fire lingered in the hearth and the air still smelled of smoke.

"Where the hell did you get these?" Audrey asked, her arms folded over her stomach as she stretched out on the couch. Morning light reflected off the mason jar. The lilacs were fresh, but she thought some of them looked a little crushed, the petals bruised. Audrey reached over towards the coffee table and tweaked one of the buds. Her mom used to wear lilac perfume sometimes. She'd always kept it in a blue vial on the vanity in her bedroom.

Audrey grimaced at the flowers. Enough of that now. Enough.

"Raphael!" she called, craning her neck to get a better look at the kitchen. She saw the angel standing at one of the counters, spreading jam over a piece of toast.

"This will be the last day for the bread, I think," Raphael said. She put the plate of toast on a wooden serving tray. "I will have to find something else for you. What do you like to eat, Audrey?"

"Umm." Audrey scratched her nose and yawned. She could probably go for a slice of pizza right now, or a cheeseburger, but that definitely wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

Raphael entered the living room, carrying her breakfast tray. "I thought we would try something a little different this morning," she said with a sly sort of grin. "Coffee. I found some all the way in the back of the pantry. You like coffee, yes?"

Audrey nodded, although in truth, she could take it or leave it. The hot cups of tea were much better and she wasn't even sick of the Earl Grey yet.

"Hey," she said, watching as Raphael unloaded the tray on the table next to the mason jar. "I want to know, where did you get those flowers? It's, like, the middle of winter here. Did you fly to a flower shop or something?"

"You have remarkable perception," the angel said. She straightened, holding the empty tray in front of her like a dutiful maidservant.

"Oh yeah?" Audrey quipped. She looked up at Raphael, putting her supposedly adept observation skills to the test. The angel's hair was a little frizzy this morning. The humidity had really done quite a number on it. Either that, or Raphael had gotten it wet and neglected to comb it out.

Audrey frowned in thought. "Did you go out last night?"

"I go out many nights, but do not fear. You are perfectly safe here. I would never leave you alone if I felt-"

"You're a lot more chatty too," Audrey noted, interrupting Raphael's unusual rambling. "What's put you in such a good mood?"

"You are making progress," Raphael said, her expression straining to be neutral. "That pleases me."

Audrey picked up a slice of toast, ignoring the crumbs that dusted her lap as she munched. "Bullshit," she said through a mouth full of bread and jam. "Did someone bring you these lilacs, Raphael? That's my guess, anyway. You don't strike me as the vain type and I can't see you trying to gussy this place up when you can't even keep your hair neat half the time. Someone must've brought you these flowers last night. I'm thinking they were a gift."

Raphael's eyes narrowed. "Very keen," she said and that was all. She returned to the kitchen and came back without the tray. Audrey watched as she squatted by the fireplace. There was a small brush leaning against the side of the hearth. Raphael used it to sweep away the ashes from the night before.

"See, don't you wish I was still all groggy?" Audrey teased, irked by the angel's secretiveness. "I was more manageable then. Now I piss you off all the time."

Her brattiness was unwarranted, but Audrey loved to taunt Raphael. It made their relationship more real, somehow. It took away the uncomfortable barrier between them, quelled all the differences between the celestial and human and made Audrey feel as though she were talking with a person just like her…not an archangel.

It was amazing how quickly she'd gotten used to Raphael, wings and all. It was amazing how easily she'd adapted to this new lifestyle, which wasn't ideal, but satisfied her in some deep, spiritual way. There was definitely something to be said for Raphael's healing powers, she supposed. Even though the angel couldn't mend a damaged spine, she could do other things that were almost, if not just as good. For the first time in a long while, Audrey began to feel at peace. She didn't regret, for one second, telling Raphael the truth about that time at the lake. And she didn't regret telling the angel that she wanted, no, she _needed_ a mother. It was a lot like wishing upon a star, she felt. Sometimes you got the things you asked for, sometimes you didn't. But either way, she knew that Raphael was trying. The angel always tried.

And Audrey wouldn't give up.

Finishing her toast, she reached for the coffee mug, relishing in her small acts of independence. Raphael had served the coffee with sugar only, because they had run out of fresh milk a couple of days ago. Audrey made do with the bitter drink and she sipped it gingerly, trying not to burn her tongue. She thought she smelled the lilacs a little, from where she was sitting. The scent was just like her mom's perfume and now, strangely, Raphael smelled like her mom also.

Audrey didn't know whether she wanted to smile or to cry. She hated this poignant stuff, but damn, it really got to her sometimes…

The footsteps on the porch shattered her sentimental moment. Audrey gasped into her coffee mug and nearly spilled the drink. Over by the fireplace, Raphael was on her feet, the small hearth brush still dangling from her fingers. The angel looked over to the porch, her eyes narrowed.

Someone knocked, the screen door rattling. "May I come in?"

Audrey did not recognize the voice. She didn't know whether she should feel relieved or not, but the abundant warmth in the tone eased some of her tension. And yet it was Raphael's reaction that truly lessened her apprehension. The angel was smiling, her lips spread wide. Dimples framed each side of her mouth and she looked apple-cheeked, fresh and young and brilliant.

"What a rarity!" she announced, rushing towards the door to open it. A blast of chilly air entered the living room, disturbing some of the loose ashes on the hearth.

Audrey heard the now familiar rustling of steely feathers, along with the thunder of booted feet. It was strange, she thought, that angels made so much noise wherever they went. She had always thought they were supposed to be light-footed. What was that line from _The Raven_? Something like…_seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.* _Huh, so much for that. These guys stomped around all over the place.

Trying not to appear too anxious, Audrey turned her head slowly just in time to catch a glimpse of the new arrival and she was surprised to find that the visitor was staring right back at her.

Raphael, appearing more chummy than Audrey had ever seen her, had her hand on the other angel's shoulder. "I am so very glad you could come, Uriel," she said. "Perhaps you are not quite as shy as I thought."

_Uriel._ Audrey's memory was jolted by the name. "Oh my God," she breathed. "Uriel! You're the one who found me the art supplies. Thanks. Thanks so much. They're really great. Exactly what I wanted, although I think Raphael's getting a bit tired of posing for me. But she's a good model…when she wants to be." She stopped herself, chewing on her lip. Raphael's talkative mood had seemingly rubbed off on her and she felt like a little kid, rambling on and on about the most stupid things.

She batted a strand of hair away from her face and tried not to look _too _embarrassed. It was hard, though, with Uriel gaping at her. Although judging from his reticent expression, he seemed a heck of a lot more than jittery than she was.

Audrey decided to keep her mouth shut. She offered Uriel a small, but polite grin, which he did not reciprocate right away. It was weird, Audrey thought, but of all the angels she had met so far, Uriel really looked, well, the most angelic. His hair was gold, there was no other way to describe it, and his eyes were blue and his face was only slightly androgynous. He had the bearing of a lamb or a dove, gentle, mild, meek and yet there was a sword strapped to his belt and he seemed entirely comfortable clad in his heavy black armor.

_This is where Botticelli must have gotten his inspiration from, _Audrey reasoned. Her smiled widened a bit and she wondered how Uriel would react if she asked him to pose for her. She'd probably scare him right back out the door. Audrey grinned at that. Imagine, an angel being scared of _her_.

But Uriel wasn't frightened, really. Just hesitant. Just a little unsteady on his feet. He glanced once at Raphael, offered her a smooth smile and then looked to Audrey.

"You are most welcome," he said in the same warm voice. "I am glad that I was able to make you happy, Audrey."

Her grin got a little bigger when he mentioned her name. "Yeah, well. It's awesome," she said. "And I mean that. Thanks again."

Uriel nodded. "But Gabriel should also be thanked," he said. "The idea was his."

And just like that, Audrey felt her heart drop. "Gabriel?" She turned her attention back to Raphael. "You didn't tell me it was Gabriel."

"Uriel brought the gifts, Gabriel found them," Raphael replied crisply. There was a note of finality in her tone, something that told Audrey the angel was unwilling to discuss the issue. "Lately, I have come to see that you humans are indeed materialistic. Does it matter so much who gives the gift so long as the sentiment is there?" She paused and in that instant, Audrey thought she saw the angel's eyes lingering on the lilacs.

"I'm not going to split hairs, if that's what you mean," Audrey said. "Have Gabriel buy me a whole damn museum for all I care."

Uriel moved his wings. Audrey suddenly regretted her obnoxious tongue.

She was about to apologize when he turned away from her, a frown making his thin face seem unnaturally hard.

"My motives are ulterior," Uriel said, a note of sincere contrition in his voice. "Raphael, I feel I must tell you at once, I did not come to see you of my own free will. I was sent."

Raphael wrinkled her nose, the smile falling away from her lips. "Oh," she said. Her gaze cut over to Audrey and then back to Uriel.

"Gabriel is waiting for you outside," Uriel explained.

Audrey stiffened at this, fear stabbing at her calm. Without meaning to, she glanced over her shoulder out the window to see if she could possibly catch a glimpse of him. Gabriel, here…that was not good. Not surprisingly, Raphael's reaction mirrored her alarm. The angel rubbed her hand along the base of her throat, her fingers splayed across her chin.

"Oh," she repeated.

Audrey, her nerves thoroughly jangled, wished that Raphael could be just a bit more assertive for once. She disliked her guardian's passive tendencies. And she knew that Raphael did have a backbone…when she chose to show it.

_Now would be a good time_, Audrey thought. The situation was starting to remind her of what had happened a few days ago, when Michael and Gabriel had both converged on the cabin with ill-intent. Had they sent Uriel ahead to do their dirty work for them now?

"What does he want?" she asked, feeling the need to throw herself head long into the brewing conflict. It was either that or sit there like a dummy while the battle raged all around her. Audrey, fortunately, had never backed down from a confrontation in the past and she hoped that Raphael wouldn't either.

Uriel's eyes widened a bit when she spoke, but he did not seem at all offended by her intrusion. "Our Father," he said, turning so that Audrey could also be included in the conversation, "has asked Raphael to return home for a time. She is to go with Gabriel now. I will stay with you, Audrey, until she is finished."

Audrey winced. She didn't like the sound of that…_until she is finished_. It sounded pretty fatal and her sympathy for Raphael abounded. Strange, how she could feel so protective of someone who was supposed to be protecting _her_.

But Raphael, for her part, did not seem the least bit daunted. There might've even been a little excitement in her eyes. Audrey watched as the angel seemed to collapse, the wretched tension in her body swept away by a sudden rush of relief.

"Of course," she said, her tone breathy. "I will go at once. Of course…of course."

It was amazing to see how quickly Raphael's fumbling indecisiveness could be transformed into purpose. Audrey observed her with mild awe. What was gentle about her, the soft lines around her face, the crinkling smile that always reached her eyes, seemed to harden into sheer will and determination. In an instant, Raphael had regained her stateliness, the ageless dignity that Audrey had first come to admire in Michael.

But even her obvious optimism was not enough to calm Audrey's private disquiet. It seemed that once again she was being pawned off on another angel, passed around like a broken toy that no one really wanted to play with in the first place. She folded her arms over her middle, her fingers curled near her still-sore ribs and offered Raphael a pouty frown.

"So you're just going to run off now?" she asked, perfectly aware of the haughty accusation in her tone.

Raphael moved over to the couch, her whole body, her great wings and gangly limbs, suddenly imbued with grace and what could have been elegance. And when Audrey looked at her, she realized that the angel was radiant. Yes, radiant. But she couldn't be happy for her just then…because she was too frightened for herself.

"I _will_ run away," Raphael soothed. She brushed a smooth palm over Audrey's hair. "And then I will run right back."

Audrey cocked her head to the side, showing her distaste for the lazy joke. "Yeah, right," she said, defiant to the last.

But Raphael hadn't heard her. She was already out the door, her boots clattering over the creaking floorboards, rushing off into the world, running away, far, far away…

Audrey held her breath, listening to the sound of her wings catching the air, the lonely dove taking flight. And just like that, Raphael was gone. Gone as if she had never existed. Audrey's stomach began to hurt.

It took her a minute to get a hold of herself. She was rattled. Unsettled. She thought about taking a sip of the bitter coffee, but decided against it. The tightness in her throat was uncomfortable enough.

By the fireplace, Uriel made his presence known, shifting, the tips of his wings hitting the hearthstones.

With a single glance, Audrey took in his deer-in-the-headlights expression. She sighed. God, this was going to be a long day.

But then Uriel surprised her. With a magnificent smile he stepped forward, touching his hand to the sketchpad she had lying closed on the coffee table.

"May I see your drawings?" he asked.

* * *

><p>Audrey let Uriel rifle through her drawings, even though it seemed like a huge invasion of privacy. Unlike Raphael, who perched herself on everything from chairs to porch railings, Uriel didn't even attempt to squeeze his winged body onto the couch besides her. Instead, he sat cross-legged on the floor next to the coffee table, his wings folded behind him. The sketchpad was open on his lap and he turned each page slowly, running his fingers over the trailing lines like a blind person reading Braille.<p>

Audrey tried to be patient for the most part, but after the first fifteen minutes or so, she began to get antsy.

Wasn't Uriel ever going to say anything?

A few weak raindrops pelted the windows. Audrey shivered, wishing Raphael had started up the fire before she'd left. The house was cold.

But there was Uriel, taking his sweet time with her drawings. Audrey coughed, then sniffed loudly. After a few long minutes, the angel finally looked up at her.

"What are you, some kind of art critic?" she asked, hoping her tone was more playful than derisive.

Uriel tilted his head to the side like a dog listening. "No," he said, his lips puckering as he spoke. "But I do like your drawings. The sketches of Raphael…you took great care with those."

Audrey blushed. "Yeah well," she said, shrugging off the compliment. "There's not much else to do around here. And I have to admit, Raphael is a pretty cool model. I'd rather draw her than a bunch of flowers or some tree."

Uriel flipped the sketchbook closed and handed it back to her. "You made her look very beautiful," he said, "and sorrowful. Does she always seem so sad to you?"

"Honestly? Yeah, I'd say so." Audrey drummed her fingers on the sketchpad cover. "Hey," she said, "if you want, I'll draw you."

She was surprised at how much the suggestion seemed to please Uriel. His wings moved a little as he adjusted his position on the floor, swiveling around to face her. "Would you?"

"Sure." Audrey glanced over her shoulder at the hearth. "But you have to do something for me too. Get a fire going. It's freezing in here."

"You should have asked me from the start," Uriel said, unfolding his legs and pushing himself to his feet. He was rather tall, Audrey realized. Definitely not as tall as Gabriel, but maybe around Michael's height. "I do not want you to be uncomfortable," he said. "Raphael would scold me."

"Would she?" Audrey asked. Her laughter escaped her as a crude snort.

"I did not mean to imply that she is unkind," Uriel said quickly. He was selecting logs from the wood bin next to the fireplace. A few splinters dusted the knees of his black pants. "But nonetheless, I would not wish to upset her."

"Huh." Audrey felt her shoulder blades hit her pillow as she leaned back. A thought occurred to her then, something Raphael had mentioned a couple of days ago. "You're the youngest, right?" she asked. "The baby of the family?"

"In order of creation, yes." Uriel stacked two of the logs in the fireplace and then looked around.

Audrey pointed at the mantle. "Near the corner, right there," she said. "Matches."

"Ah." Uriel plucked the small cardboard box off the mantle. After a moment of fussing, he struck a light and set the logs ablaze.

Warmth bathed Audrey's face. The patter of the raindrops on the window panes seemed distant now. Why did it always have to rain here? Maybe that's why everything was so green, even in winter. She liked the concept of the everlasting. It made her feel not so…hopeless.

Uriel moved away from the hearth and sat back down by the coffee table, watching her closely. Audrey had an absurd vision of a dog laying curled up contentedly on the floor. She smiled at him.

Uriel wrapped his hands around his knees, pulling his legs close to his chest. His expression was thoughtful, intent, although somewhat softened around the edges. Audrey remembered what Raphael had told her about him.

_Uriel is kind and gentle. Our Father made him that way._

A little crease appeared on his forehead now, though. A small sign of worry.

"May I ask you a question?" Uriel asked, his mouth twisted in a half-frown.

Audrey shrugged. "Go right ahead."

The heat from the fire had colored Uriel's cheeks red. He rubbed his hand over the rim of his thick collar. "Is Raphael sad?" he asked. "Like in your drawings?"

"Umm." Audrey glanced at the sketchpad on her lap. "A picture is worth a thousand words," she said.

Uriel shook his head, confused. "I do not-"

"What I mean is, yeah, I guess." Audrey played with the ratty end of her hair, running her fingers through the knots. "But she has a reason to be sad, right? You know she got into this huge fight with Michael and Gabriel a couple of days ago."

"I know." Uriel dropped his chin onto his knee. "I am sorry you witnessed it."

Audrey's eyes widened. His compassion surprised her…in a good way. Uriel's gentle mannerisms were starting to restore her faith in angels. She began to think of idle, childhood dreams, clouds, harps, chubby-cheeked cherubs. Uriel was all those things and more. And Audrey took comfort in the familiar.

Snuggling underneath her blankets, she watched the tongues of flame lick the hearthstones. The redbrick back wall of the fireplace was scorched black and the wind dragged all the lingering smoke up the flue.

It was like something out of a fairy-tale, she decided. And Audrey thought she deserved a little fantasy, a slight reprieve from the sharp reality of the world around her. She looked at Uriel, his hair glinting gold and secretly thanked him for his kindness. Audrey had never realized how precious kindness was until it was suddenly missing from her life. Uriel, on the other hand, had already repaid the debt. He had given her what she needed.

"Call me crazy," Audrey said, allowing her light heart to guide the conversation, "but I get the feeling that Raphael, Michael and Gabriel weren't always that way."

"Hmm." Uriel nodded his head in assent. "Not at all, but it is no surprise, truly. I myself have been expecting this…_conflict_ for quite some time. It is not shocking. Something of such great weight…of such wild intensity, cannot support itself indefinitely. The star burns out. The light is quenched and falls back into shadow. The only question in my mind was when, not if. I never doubted it would come to this."

"Okay, you totally lost me." Audrey shook her head, Uriel's ethereal phrasing rattling around in her all too earthly brain. "What exactly are you talking about?"

Uriel released his knees and stretched them out before him, his boots just touching the edge of the fireplace. "We were speaking of Michael, Gabriel and Raphael, yes?"

"Yeah."

Uriel reached over his shoulder and rubbed the crook of his wing. The action was small, the movement almost unnoticeable, but it struck Audrey, filled her with a rush of wonder for the creature sitting before her, with his great wings and lean, lithe body.

She flipped open her sketchpad and reached for the box of pencils she had left on the coffee table. "I'm going to start drawing you now," she said. "Keep talking, all right?"

Uriel's brows shot up his forehead, but he acquiesced, his obedience graceful, not grudging. "What I meant to say," he replied, his expression just bordering on sheepish, "is that Michael, Gabriel and Raphael love each other too intensely. Too wildly. They are," he paused, his nostrils dilating, indecision darkening his boyish countenance, "they have been, possessive…obsessed with each other. I knew it from the moment I was created, from the instant our Lord brought me into their midst. I was not welcomed immediately, and neither was Lucifer, who came before me. We were seen as superfluous. Unwanted."

"That's terrible!" Audrey said. The point of her pencil snapped when she pressed it against the paper, leaving an ugly dark spot on her outline of Uriel's shoulders. She honestly couldn't believe what she was hearing. Angels acting like bratty children, playing games of exclusion. It sounded an awful lot like high school, except Audrey herself was usually on the other side, pushing the new kid out. She blushed, feeling like an awful bitch.

"It is not terrible," Uriel explained, his voice even. "I was patient. They came to love me after a short time, and I always loved them. But they still cling to each other. They always have. Before he fell, Lucifer used to say that he thought Michael, Gabriel and Raphael were one soul divided into three bodies. His description was rather fitting, I think."

Audrey squirmed. It was a bit weird for her to hear Uriel talk so casually about such things, but she admired how forthcoming he was. Maybe, she reasoned, he really needed to talk more than she wanted to listen. Although he was warm and congenial and polite, Audrey felt some sense of isolation about him. It was quiet, subtle, like a sheen of mist rising off water. It crept and crawled and hid itself in the tiny cracks, in the strain that showed in his eyes whenever he looked away from her and at the fire.

_Shit_, Audrey told herself, _I'm playing therapist to an angel._

And yet, she was glad she could help him, even in this small way. It was like a blessing of some kind and Audrey readily accepted his confidence as if he were her closest friend. It had been a long time since she had been made to feel this special, this important. Inwardly, Audrey weighed her life's value. The question of her worth did not seem so straightforward anymore.

She put down the pencil she was holding and gave Uriel her full attention, showed him that her confidence was indeed worth keeping. "It must be hard for you," she said, "having to deal with their nonsense all the time. They all seem pretty self-absorbed to me."

Uriel raised his left shoulder in a half-shrug, his feathers snagging on the braided rug underneath him. "It is not intentional on their part," he said, although Audrey felt he was definitely making excuses. "I have known nothing else all these years and neither have they. Michael, Gabriel and Raphael cannot be blamed for their nature. And I would never interfere with them."

"But I bet you'd like to tell them to cut the crap," Audrey said. "I mean, it has to get annoying."

"A bit," Uriel conceded reluctantly. "But I begrudge them nothing."

"You're ridiculously patient," Audrey replied. She flicked her finger against her pencil, letting it roll up the cover of her sketchpad and back down into her lap. "There's one thing I really don't get, though…which isn't surprising. I'm a complete outsider, new to all of this. Why did Raphael put herself in the middle of Michael and Gabriel's fight in the first place? She's only married to one of them. Shouldn't she have sided with Gabriel? Or is her marriage to Gabriel really as screwed up as I think it is?"

Uriel blinked, his fair lashes brushing the slightly bruised skin under his eyes. "Gabriel and Raphael are devoted to each other," he said. "I myself have witnessed their love. It is steady, it changes, and it grows. I do not think their union is tempestuous."

"Then why is she royally ticked off at Gabriel too?" Audrey asked. She felt like she was starting to turn into a gossip then, trading juicy secrets with Uriel, who seemed to have all the inside knowledge. And yet, she knew that there must be some things Raphael was keeping from her. Her guardian's perception of the whole situation was probably very skewed and she couldn't truly see how messed up her life was from the inside. Audrey, however, was on the outside and she knew a train-wreck when she saw one. Uriel, she thought, definitely felt the same way.

Uriel tapped the toe of his boot on the edge of the hearth. It made a low, pensive sound. "I suppose," he said, taking his time in rolling the words around his mouth. "I suppose Raphael loves Michael and Gabriel's brotherhood more than her own marriage. It is an odd concept, I know. I myself have grappled with it and I do believe that my understanding may be corrupted because I still remain distanced from them. Raphael is undoubtedly devoted to her husband and to Michael, but what she truly admires is their devotion to each other. She has been, I feel, the sole guardian of their relationship, both before and after her marriage to Gabriel. Whenever they quarrel, even if the argument is petty and worthless, she intervenes. She settles them. She maintains the peace. She is desperate to keep what they have. I feel that she would protect their brotherhood before she would save her marriage. It is a matter of priority, I suppose, but I cannot condemn or approve of her actions. She belongs to them and they to her. But sometimes I think it would have been better if Raphael hadn't married Gabriel. Sometimes…sometimes I think that."

Audrey was immediately alert. "What?" she asked, sitting up straight, her balance unsteady, shaky. It was as great of a revelation she thought she'd ever get from Uriel and she kept her eyes locked on him, urging, begging him not to withhold the rest of it.

But the angel dropped his chin back onto his knees and when he spoke, his voice was nearly lost to her, closed up and locked away inside himself. "Never mind," Uriel said.

Audrey threw herself back against her pillows, feeling utterly defeated. _Shit. _

They sat in silence for a while, the fire providing some pleasant music. Uriel rose and fed another log to the blaze. The rain had slacked off, watery sunlight sneaking through the clouds. Audrey heard the wind howling outside. It sounded threatening.

Lazily, she picked up one of her pencils and worked on her rough sketch, adding a suggestion of color to Uriel's hair.

"I don't know," she said, a sigh dropping amidst her words, "and here I thought my family was dysfunctional. You guys take the prize."

Audrey almost expected Uriel to get indignant, but he didn't. His smile was sad, his thin lips pursed, eyes solemn and grave. Audrey held her breath. If only she could freeze him like that, if only…

"You must not think poorly of them," Uriel said. "We are all inherently flawed, even angels. And each of them, Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, each of them possess unparalleled virtue. They are the highest of the angels in Heaven. Michael drove treacherous Lucifer and his demons into the Pit. Gabriel has spoken to prophets and carried our Father's Word only to the most blessed of your kind. And Raphael, your gentle Raphael, bound the demon Azazel and buried him in the desert Dudael, where he still remains. Audrey, what you have seen here is but a shadow of their glory, a mere mirage of how they truly appear. It is in your nature to identify their weaknesses. You recognize your humanity in them, otherwise, you would never be able to understand them…or even be close to them."

Uriel paused and the perfect intensity in his eyes faded, leaving Audrey awash in what could have been confusion. She laid down her pencil again, her fingers shaking a bit too much and tried to picture Raphael, bumbling, bewildered Raphael, who brought her tea every morning and couldn't seem to keep the knots out of her hair, as what Uriel had said she was. Raphael, sitting in radiance, in undimmed glory amongst the stars. Raphael, the healer, the warrior, the saint. Raphael the Archangel.

Raphael, who she had wanted, who she had dared to dream of as her mother…

_How could she ever be my mother?_

Audrey looked down at her sketch of Uriel and realized that it wasn't very good at all. She moved to tear it from her notebook.

"May I look?" Uriel had gotten to his feet and was hovering over her, benign and serene and beautiful.

Audrey touched her hand to her mouth, trying to scrub the frown off her face. "It's not really…I haven't finished it yet."

"I see," he said. But that didn't stop Uriel from gently slipping the sketchpad out from underneath her hands. Audrey didn't even bother to protest. She had learned, long ago, that these angels did what they wanted anyway.

He held the drawing close up to his face, his nose almost touching the paper. The boyish delight in his eyes was unmistakable. "No one has ever drawn a likeness of me from life before," he said, excitement making his voice tremble just a little. "Audrey, I think it's wonderful."

"And do you know what I think, Uriel? Do you know what I honestly think?" Audrey asked him.

He raised a brow.

"I think you're a real sweetheart," she said.

Uriel moved the sketchpad quickly in front of his face, but Audrey still caught a good glimpse of him. The angel was blushing.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thanks so much for reading! If you have some free time, please leave me a review. I thrive on feedback.

In chapter fifteen, Gabriel offers Raphael a gift. Audrey wakes up to a whole new world. The next installment is in the works and should be posted in roughly ten days. Until then, take care and be well!

_*This line was taken from Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven". _


	15. Chapter Fifteen Miracle

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter fifteen of "Rebirth". I would just like to take a minute to thank all my thoughtful readers and reviewers, **PhotoMunky, Jenny Joker, Melissa, saichick, savyleec **and **Maladicta** (who reviewed nine times in one night. Wow! Thank you!). In addition, I would like to thank all the readers who took the time to add this story to their favorites/author alerts lists. Your support is truly the lifeblood of this fic. I do hope you enjoy this installment.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Fifteen Miracle **

Uriel loved the little cabin. He found the shingled walls, with their flakes of grey paint, endearingly charming. And he thought the kitchen, with its cool, granite-top counters was elegant. The large fireplace in the living room intrigued him, as did the scrawny-limbed girl who had sat sprawled on the couch in front of it, her mouth uncouth, her manner brazen and her heart blazing with resilience.

It was no small wonder, Uriel decided, that Raphael had come to care for Audrey. She was by nature a nurturer, her skill as a healer translating easily over into something that resembled maternal instinct. And Uriel, who was quiet and sharp-eyed, had always felt that Raphael yearned for children. Michael might not see it. Gabriel, her own husband, might not see it. But it was there. Lingering. Growing and blooming. Living inside Raphael, who wanted her womb to bear life when it would always be empty.

Occasionally, it reminded Uriel of a tragedy.

But it was hard to feel tragic at that moment, even amidst the volatile throes of a tempest. Uriel was almost afraid to admit that he was content, as his peace did seem rather selfish when he knew that the rest of his family was locked in turmoil. But pity itself was cold. Unfeeling. It was a shadow of an emotion and not the emotion itself. Uriel decided that he would not pity Michael and Gabriel and Raphael. He was not that callous.

Sitting by himself in the living room, squeezed in-between the coffee table and the fireplace, he watched the winter stars awaken in the darkening sky. It was nightfall already and Raphael had still not returned. He had helped Audrey to bed less than an hour ago, even though he regretted losing the girl's cheeky company. His sheer laziness had allowed the fire in the hearth to burn down and Uriel spent a few minutes feeding the leftover kindling to the cinders, the heat burning his palms as he thrust the sticks into the warm ashes. Audrey's sketchpad lay on the squat coffee table by his left elbow, along with a dirty soup bowl and a few crackers the girl had taken for dinner. Uriel was only slightly tempted to take another peek at her drawings, but he resisted, reminding himself that he needed her permission to go through her pictures.

Uriel was, at heart, a gentle soul and he did not hold with even the smallest trespass. Michael might be arrogant and defiant. Gabriel could be cold and calculating. And Raphael could be weak. But Uriel wasn't. He was his own echo, his own shadow and although he respected his elders, he did not esteem to their virtues. Perhaps that made him apathetic, in a way. Or indifferent.

But it was hard to be indifferent now when he knew that what remained of order and balance had been thrown away in favor of sharp words and casual cruelties. Uriel snapped the last twig in half and threw it into the fire. The only thing that truly frightened him was his own uncertainty, how it settled within him, coating his heart like the ashes that clung to the pitted hearthstones. This was not his war. It never had been and yet, a part of him still yearned to be included.

If he was even wanted…

Allowing himself a rare frown, Uriel leaned back, his hands braced on either sides of his wings. There was, he thought, some mixed blessing to be found in this evening. He had been welcomed into Audrey's company and he had loved it. And although it was too much for him to admit that he was lonely, he was glad to have met her. The sound of her even, unlabored breathing in the room across the hall was a lullaby in its own right.

He relaxed. He bathed in the warmth of the fire. And he felt very much at home.

The stirring of a sudden wind in the high branches of the pine trees snagged his awareness. Uriel leaned back further, craning his neck so that he could see out the window. Shadows moved on the porch, indistinct figures that took the dark and formed it into a solid shape. The front door whined as the knob was turned.

Uriel drew his legs close to his body and prepared to stand. He wondered what had taken them so long and he wondered what had been said. He had a few guesses, of course, but little else to go on. As always, he had been left, quite literally, in the dark.

Michael entered the cabin first and Uriel was surprised, because he had not expected the General to insinuate himself into a situation he had already made explosive. But it was impossible to separate Michael from Gabriel or Raphael. They were nothing if not constant.

Gabriel came next, his face set, an air of heavy weariness about him. He rubbed his eyes with his thick fingers and brought with him the cold of the night, which lingered in the otherwise cozy confines of the cabin.

Uriel's nostrils dilated. He thought he smelled snow.

Raphael was the last to come inside and she rewarded Uriel's perception when he saw a few white flakes in her hair. Her cheeks were damp and flushed, her eyes almost fever-bright. She had exchanged her restricting armor for something more appropriate, a loose-fitting gown with sleeves that came down to her wrists. It was the same attire she often wore in the Garden, when the hours were long and she was not troubled. It had been a while, Uriel decided with a pang of sadness, since she had not been troubled.

He caught the intensity of her gaze and held it. She was smiling at him, her lips red with the cold. The snow was melting in her hair.

"You are back," Uriel said. He didn't know what else he could say, so he settled for the obvious.

"At last," Michael replied. He stretched out his arm and let it rest on the stone mantel. The low firelight put devious shadows into his face.

"How is Audrey?" Raphael asked. Her tone was hurried, a rush of words and withheld breath. She shifted to the left, standing on her the tips of her toes to see over Uriel's shoulder and into the hallway.

"Delightful," he replied.

Gabriel grunted.

"She is wonderfully acerbic," Uriel continued, ignoring him. "And a quick wit. I think _she_ was the one who kept _me_ entertained."

"And you called me mad all these long years for espousing the virtues of mankind," Michael said. "How quickly you have forgotten Adam and Eve."

Uriel felt himself color, but he tried not to take offense. There was something of measured harshness in the way each of them spoke and it was unusual to see the three angels standing apart now, separate figures in the tiny room. It was discordance in its purest, most unadulterated form. And Michael, Gabriel and Raphael were all made wretched by it. Michael became capricious and Gabriel brooded and Raphael went about, looking wild-eyed and stunned.

Uriel found himself grimacing. Dearest Father, he hoped this would end soon.

He turned his attention to Gabriel, who's silence was not unusual, but perhaps a little more perturbed this evening. The large angel was positioned between Michael and his wife, looking, for all the world, like an awkward appendage, the elegance and dignity gone from his tall frame. Staring at the mason jar with the lilacs in it, Gabriel's gaze was soft with exhaustion and his big shoulders rose every now and then beneath his armor to accommodate a deep sigh.

Uriel couldn't help it. His curiosity was burning and he gave into it.

"Will you tell me what happened?" he asked, still feeling like an intruder.

Michael rubbed his palm over his chin. Raphael moved around the coffee table, fussing with the soup bowl, sweeping away the cracker crumbs with the side of her hand. Gabriel alone stayed motionless, his body too heavy to move, weighed down by something that was greater than them all.

"It is done," he said. "Or at least it will be."

"What do you mean?" Uriel asked. He had only the vaguest notion of what they were talking about.

"Our Lord has given Raphael a gift," Michael replied, his voice low and lazy, "although it was Gabriel who asked for it."

Uriel considered this for a moment. He pushed his tongue against his teeth and inhaled through his nose, catching the scent of the fire. Snow stirred past the window, landing on the sill in small drifts. Caught in the arms of the wind, the movement of the flakes was hypnotic. The night itself had an ageless feel to it, when decades and centuries and millennia blurred together and Uriel felt both old and young.

"I am not surprised," he said at length, moving away from the unhappy triumvirate and closer to the one of the windows. The cold air was thicker near the fogged glass and it stole away the blushing warmth of the fire.

"Indeed," Michael said. "He has always indulged Raphael."

"Spiteful," Raphael muttered, although there was no particular malice in her voice. She carried the soup bowl and the dirty spoon into the kitchen and placed them in the sink.

Uriel studied her movements, which were forced and harried, meant only to relieve the unwanted energy that made her seem so ill at ease. But was she ill at ease or excited? He wasn't sure he could tell. The light in her eyes, the hint of new joy, gave him reason to hope.

Raphael returned to the living room and she ran her hands convulsively down the front of her gown. "Sometimes I think you abhor my faith," she told Michael.

The General was only slightly provoked. He raised a brow, adopting some of Gabriel's weariness until he seemed dull and languid. "Only because you are blinded by it."

"An old argument," Raphael replied. "I've heard it before."

"No you have not." Michael jerked his chin in her direction. "Otherwise I think you might have listened to me."

"I listen to our Father alone," Raphael said. She half-turned and put her back to him.

"Only because it is convenient for you," Michael retorted.

"Enough!" Gabriel was roused from his stupor at last, his subdued resentment reverberating within the walls of the cabin.

Michael made a soft noise of acknowledgment in the back of his throat. Raphael looked nervously towards Audrey's bedroom to see if the child still lay asleep. And all was quieted, if not settled.

Uriel stretched his wings, trapped by the stagnant tension. He had never felt so beleaguered, so helpless. To be an observer was torturous and he stood on the fringe of their turmoil, feeling it, but not invited to participate. He thought back to what Audrey had said that afternoon and wondered if perhaps the girl hadn't been right. This was terrible, in a way. And sad.

And how would it be, he mused, if he began to pity himself?

It was Raphael, however, who finally reached out and brought him back into the circle. She glanced at him and although her smile was strained, he found something restoring in it.

"Thank you for your help, Uriel," she said. "I am most grateful-"

"And will you not thank me?" Gabriel asked. His words were rough, but there was no accusation in his tone, only a desperate sort of longing that made Uriel even more uncomfortable.

Raphael froze, her hands still at her waist. She stood framed in the dim light of the fire, her shadow rising along the wall behind her.

Michael turned from the hearth to look at her and Uriel saw that he too seemed lost to the same misery, his anguish showing itself in the worried creases that crossed his forehead and in the tight line of his lips.

"Please, Raphael," he said. "Your husband is _trying_."

For a moment, Uriel thought that Raphael would fall back on rare anger. He thought she would be like a rabid dog, as she had been that night when they had found Gabriel in the desert and she had treated him cruelly.

But Raphael surprised him. Her time away from the cabin had taken away the pain that had hardened around her soul of late. And without that pain, without its questionable strength, she seemed more compassionate. Weak, yes, but also merciful. Raphael glanced once at Michael and then she looked at Gabriel, her husband who stood abandoned and bound to his defeat.

"You did what I asked of you," she said.

Gabriel turned his head toward her, but he seemed almost reluctant to engage her, as if he were still out flying in the night sky, with the wind pulling at him and the snow falling in ethereal wisps of ivory. The warmth of the cabin eluded him and Uriel wished that Raphael would open up her arms and embrace him, welcome him back home as he deserved to be welcomed.

But he was silent. He knew his place. Never to interfere. Never to intervene. Always on the edge of the circle. Always on the outside.

Gabriel did not meet his wife's gaze and when he spoke, he only mumbled into his collar. But the sentiment was there. It lived. It grew even though the night was cold, even though the snow had already picked up and begun to pile against the windows.

"I am giving this gift to you, Raphael," Gabriel said. "I wish for you to have it. With all my heart-"

Raphael silenced him with a nod. It was a cold sort of acknowledgment, but Uriel recognized the sincerity in her gaze. She was looking at her husband. She studied him with quiet, steadfast affection, her heart reaching out, soothing his hurt, enveloping his spiritual being even though there remained a physical distance between them.

It was an intimate moment. Once more, Uriel felt like an intruder, but he was not alone. Michael was watching them as well and the pain in his glance was subtle, old, something nursed but never forgotten.

A sickening chill dropped into Uriel's stomach. It slithered around in his gut like cold water. He recalled the careless words he had muttered in front Audrey that afternoon, the private misgiving he had tried to make her understand, even though he knew she wouldn't be able to.

_This_, he told himself,_ is why Gabriel and Raphael should never have married._

He wanted to apologize to Michael for this, because it almost felt like an injustice. But time had past and age had softened the edges of this particular tragedy. Uriel knew that he couldn't restore what had never existed in the first place. Michael, Gabriel and Raphael thought that they understood each other. But they didn't. And that, he thought, was the greatest tragedy of all.

Raphael held her husband's gaze. She kept him close and near to her heart, although she was saddened now. Distracted to the point of selfishness.

"My thanks will be endless," she said, folding her hands across her middle. Her shadow shifted on the floor behind her, the muted light from the fire sending it higher and higher along the wall. "I am grateful, Gabriel," she said, "but I would rather you give this gift to Audrey. Not me. It would mean so much more if _you_ gave it to her."

Gabriel was hurt, Uriel could tell. The large angel looked strangely diminutive standing there. And Uriel himself felt blighted. He had hoped, in vain, that this would be the end.

Silence reigned between them. Uriel listened to the tiny, crystalline pings of hail hitting the window. The night was creeping into the cabin, crawling down the chimney. And he was powerless to stop it…

Michael, wasn't, though and he stirred them from their pathetic apathy with his usual energy.

"It should be done," he said briskly, leaving his perch by the fireplace and entering the short corridor that branched off from the living room. "We came all this way bearing such a precious blessing. Do not waste it on your words. Come, Gabriel. Come, Raphael."

They responded, heeded his call and followed him into Audrey's room. Uriel knew that he had not been named, but he so desperately wanted to feel needed. He trailed after them anyway, crowding the space outside her bedroom door. Gabriel and Raphael stood on either side of the narrow bed. Michael gazed blandly out the window. A single shaft of light fell over Audrey's sleeping form, bisecting her body. She lay there undisturbed, her hair tangled, one cheek pressed to the pillow, a hand atop the coverlet. Uriel gazed at her clever fingers and remembered how they had constructed his likeness. He thought he knew what was going to happen now and he was glad. There could be joy on this cold night. There could be salvation.

"Shall we begin?" Michael asked, his voice ringing with celestial authority from out of the folds of darkness.

Gabriel nodded. Raphael dared to run the smooth palm of her hand over Audrey's brow.

"We all bless her," she said.

And Uriel hearkened to her words, took them into his own heart and held them there.

_Bless her_, he thought. _But bless us. It is possible to heal. Through God, all things are possible._

He stood outside the door. He waited and watched. And he prayed. For her. For them. For what might be found on this night, hidden in the cold and snow, borne to them through the gift of grace…and the promise of a miracle.

* * *

><p>Audrey awoke slowly the next morning into a world that was new and fragile. She blinked and saw an unfamiliar light on the ceiling above, something that did not reflect the sun, but a silvery, sustained glow that made her think of ivory. The wind was low, whispering, a gentle suspiration that breathed against the glass panes of the window. Audrey rolled onto her side with a yawn and saw snow. <em>Snow.<em>

She experienced a single moment of childish glee. Her stomach squirmed, her heart did a happy little somersault in her chest and she remembered how she had never had a single snow day while living back in L.A.. There were no white Christmases, no unexpected blizzards that cancelled school for a week, no charming flurries that put frost into the dried autumn leaves, no flakes to melt sweetly on her eager tongue.

Of course, Audrey _had_ seen snow before. Her dad liked to ski, not because he was particularly good at it, but because he thought it was the classy thing to do and he regularly dragged the family up to the mountains on long weekends. As a child, Audrey had tolerated the trips, although there had always been something rather contrived about the snow up there. It didn't come fleetingly in the night. It wasn't a surprise that she could wake up to. It wasn't like seeing the world transformed in a few mere hours, seeing the sidewalks blanketed with white, being able to make a snowman in her own driveway.

_Or a snow angel_, Audrey thought wryly as she pulled herself upright against the pillows. She allowed herself a few minutes to enjoy the drifts outside her window, savored the wild swirl of the flakes and imagined herself running barefoot, cold, freezing, her toes burning, through a white field.

Oh well, she'd have to take what she got. Enjoy the blessing from a distance. Be grateful for what she had, which wasn't a lot, but at least something. _Something._

Audrey sighed. She tried to get lost in visions of glassy icicles that hung from trees. Snow dusting the tops of the pines. Green and white. Everlasting. Never-ending. Frozen in time.

She leaned to the side and tried to scoot over to the opposite side of her bed to get a better glimpse out of the window. Her right leg folded at the knee, the toes on her foot twitching.

It took Audrey a second to realize. She sat still and listened to the silence of the house. She couldn't hear anything over her own heartbeat and the frantic gasps that echoed within her lungs. Audrey didn't want to look.

Her hope was brittle. It could melt away. What if she had been tricked? What if that momentary jolt of joy wasn't real and she was still broken?

"I have to be brave," Audrey told herself. It was a small comfort to hear her own voice, still inside her, still living. "I have to…I can…"

With shaking hands, she pulled back the layers of blankets, uncoiled the sheets from around her legs and looked. Everything seemed the same, reason cautioned. The bottom hem of her large t-shirt feel to mid-thigh, leaving the rest of her legs bare. With her eyes, she followed the curves of her kneecaps, the long line of her shins, her toes with their chipped purple nail polish. She took a deep breath. She stared at her legs and prepared herself for the worst, not the best.

The grey light coming in through the windows made her skin too pale. Audrey could see the tiny blue veins around her ankles, a few faded bruises here and there, the red splotches where her body had grazed the road, the tar tearing the soft layers of flesh away. She wasn't certain what she was expecting, but Audrey hoped. With the echo of falling snow settling around her, she focused on her right foot…and made it move.

A trick! It must have been a stupid trick. Some hurtful joke her body was playing on her. Audrey fisted her fingers into the sheets. Again, try it again. It wouldn't work this time. Probably not. There were tears in her eyes for no reason. She was crying because she already knew her dream was exhausted.

Audrey steadied herself. She concentrated on her right foot…and moved it again. This time, her whole leg jolted, the atrophied muscle bunching weakly, but moving nonetheless. Her heart stopped when she realized that she had felt the warm cotton of the sheet brushing against her feet. And the cold, she could feel the cold too, not just the numbness, but the living cold.

A shriek built up inside Audrey, although she only managed a faint whimper. Throwing herself forward, she ran her hands up and down her legs, felt the flesh against flesh, felt her slightly sweaty palms on her knees, her thighs, her ankles. She moved both her feet and was exhausted by the effort. She used her fingernails and dug them into her toes, mimicking Raphael and the wicked little pin she had used to pierce her skin. But she could feel now! Feel all the pains and aches. Feel the air, feel her own breathe on her skin as she panted and cried and tried to hug her knees close to herself.

What was this? What had happened? Was it the snow? she thought wildly, madly. Had the snow come in the night, fallen on her body, encased her and buried her and then given birth to her once more? Had she been taken from the world and then put back into it? Had she been carried in on the cold, her spirit spiraling along through the sky between the flakes, returned to her true essence now, in this moment, in this miraculousmoment…

_Miraculous. _The word rang in her head. Miracles. God and His angels. _Angels._

Audrey sat up straight, the tears sticky and hot on her cheeks, dripping down her face, curving along her jaw. _Angels._

She remembered the night before. She'd been with Uriel, hadn't she? He'd made her soup for dinner. Looked at her drawings. Carried her to bed like a regular Prince Charming. And where was Raphael? Was she still gone? Run away on her errand, somewhere high in the clouds, in the place where the snow came from.

Audrey exhaled, her entire body shuddering with a sob. She didn't know if she should feel alone now, lost to her fierce joy. Who should she call to? Who could she cry out for? Who would come?

She opened her mouth, voiceless. Who would come? Who would come?

In the end, it was Raphael, wearing a flowing, loose sort of gown, who strolled casually in through the bedroom door. The angel was bearing her wooden tray with a cup of tea and a bowl of oatmeal. She had taken one of the lilacs out of the mason jar in the living room and propped it between the mug and bowl, a little sprig of purple that was still fresh in a land of snow.

Taking in Audrey's awe-struck appearance, she set the tray down carefully on the night table, a spoon clinking inside the tea mug, the lilac rolling over onto its side.

"Good morning," she said. "Did you happen to see the snow?"

Audrey gaped at her, fresh tears blinding her gaze. The angel appeared to her as if through a kaleidoscope. All diamonds and fractured light. "My legs," she wept. "Raphael, I can feel my legs!"

And the angel smiled. "I know," she said.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Hmm, Audrey may have gotten her legs back, but that certainly won't fix everything. As she's about to find out, she and Raphael still have a long way to go.

Thanks so much for taking the time to read! If you happen to have some free time, please leave me a review. Feedback always makes my day.

The next chapter is in the works and should be posted as soon as possible. Until then, take care and be well!


	16. Chapter Sixteen Analysis of Consequences

**Author's Note: **Oh my, this chapter turned out to be quite a monster length-wise. Raphael really is quite the pessimist and she likes to complain a lot, haha. ;)

As always, I would like to take a minute to thank all my readers and reviewers, **savyleec, photomunky, saichick, Maladicta, Jenny Joker **and **piper. **Also, I would like to thank all the readers who have added this fic to their favorites/author alerts lists. You guys are beyond awesome! I do hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Sixteen Analysis of Consequences **

For one precious, breathless moment, Raphael allowed herself to be swept away in Audrey's joy. She was awash with the wildest happiness, swimming deep in a realm of abandonment sweetened by what she felt might be hope. She stood in that tiny, cold bedroom and let the full wonderment of the miraculous, which after all so many years still never ceased to amaze her, fill every cell in her being. It crept into her blood and climbed into her bones and echoed in her lungs. It was the perfect manifestation of the holy, the divine reaching down from the heavens to touch the earth and soothe away just a little bit of the hurt that had taken the life out of humanity.

Raphael glowed. She resonated with restored faith and bliss. She looked out the window over the bed and watched the drifting snow, if only because she thought she might cry if glanced at Audrey herself. But the girl still managed to find her. Raphael felt cold fingers close over the edge of her hand, pulling her closer to a reality that was not as dreadful as before. The angel took a deep breath and surrendered herself to this new world. She came up to the surface and began to live again.

Audrey jerked her hand roughly, trying to pull Raphael as close to her as she could. "You did this," she said, each word frantic, her phrasing mimicking the most inane gibberish. "You…you really are a healer, Raphael. You did this!" And just as suddenly, the girl released her hand to rub her own palms vigorously over her legs, up and down, following the curves of the knees, the smooth lines of her shin bones. "You did this. My God, my God, you saved me!"

The mention of her Lord's name stirred something primal within Raphael. It was doubt. And the feeling nagged at her, attacked her conscience was needles of discomfort, reminded her that _she_ had not been the one to work this miracle.

Raphael remembered how it had felt to stand before her Father the day before, in His everlasting grace and love. She remembered her words and Gabriel's. It was strange, she realized, that even amidst their turmoil they had both asked for the same thing, the singular blessing that they hoped would restore peace and an echo of the happiness they had once kept between them.

And she had to admit, Michael was right about certain things. Her Father did indulge her the most. She was granted what she asked for. She was given a miracle that she alone could not perform. She was allowed to work wonders in His name, which was the highest honor she knew, the most glorious gift that could ever be bestowed.

But this gift, this mercy that Audrey had been granted, was not Raphael's doing. The angel looked at her hands and studied the faint lines on her palms. A little bit of her belief in herself had faded with the night, had been taken away by the same wind that brought the fresh snow. Raphael's smile was sad as she reflected on her own weakness. She did not deserve Audrey's gratitude, and yet, she had it.

Life was a paradox, sometimes. A painful absurdity.

But it was hard to feel pain in the face of so much overwhelming joy. Audrey looked about her wildly, as if the upside down world had suddenly fallen back into place but she couldn't possibly recognize it.

"How did this happen?" the girl asked. She was taking turns wiping her tears and feeling her legs, her hands always busy, always quick and clever.

Raphael's smile became a little less sad. She still felt the touch of Heaven on her flesh, from whence she had come the night before. They had both awakened to a new world, Audrey and her. How fitting it was that they should witness it together. How fortunate that they would have this memory forever and ever. _Amen._

"Do not ask why," she replied, touching the top of Audrey's head. Her hair was soft. Raphael remembered helping the girl wash it in the bathtub a day or two ago. Audrey would be able to do it for herself now.

"Have faith," she counseled, disliking her own ambiguity, but finding it necessary nonetheless.

"So what you're saying is," Audrey rambled, "don't look a gift horse in the mouth." She let her fingers curl around her shins.

Raphael laughed. "Exactly."

"Point taken!" Audrey shouted, the words brimming in her mouth, pushed from the very top of her lungs. "Oh God, this is completely unreal, but why am I just sitting here? I'm so stupid, Raphael. I just don't know what to do….I don't…."

"Then do whatever you would like," Raphael replied. She pulled her hand away from Audrey's head and took a small step back, allowing the girl to rejoice in her own independence. "Do whatever you would like best."

Audrey blinked through her tears. "That's like asking someone who's won the lotto what they want to buy first."

Raphael raised her eyebrows. She did not bother to ask what the lotto was.

"I think I wanna stand," Audrey said. Although her legs were still weak, she managed to push back the blankets until they fell off the bottom of the bed. "I'm going to just stand up. Isn't that awesome? I never thought I'd take it for granted, but…" She swung her legs off the side of her mattress, shrieking with glee as her bare feet touched the cold wooden floorboards.

Raphael moved forward and gently braced her arms underneath Audrey's. "Your muscles are atrophied," the angel explained. "You have not used them in a while. It may take a little time until you are completely sure and steady on your feet again."

"Haha, I need to find my sea legs," Audrey muttered. "My dad used to say that all the time, but I never knew what he really meant."

"Careful," Raphael urged, although she wasn't certain if she was warning herself or her patient. Slowly, she raised the girl up onto her feet, her thin body shaking with as much weakness as excitement. Audrey had to put her arms around the angel's neck in order to keep herself completely upright and her knees sagged, knocking into Raphael's.

They stood for a minute in silence. Hail hit the window. The wind roared once, then dropped its noise back into a throaty, half-hearted moan. Audrey heaved a sigh and whimpered once. Raphael could feel her hands trembling even though they were locked around her neck. And the angel wanted so badly to close herself up, to distance herself from this joy which she did not deserve, which could never be her own.

_Mother and daughter_, she told herself. _Don't lie. This is what you truly wanted. This is what you should have asked for…_

"But I didn't," she muttered, her own hands braced against the small of Audrey's back. She wasn't she why, but she wanted to cry.

Audrey ignored her, and her ignorance was endearing, a hint of the child still hidden within her young woman's body. "Hey," she said, her head tilted to the side. "You're actually not that tall." Her nose came to Raphael's chin.

"Looks are indeed deceiving," the angel replied. The emptiness in her voice surprised her. She would have to cover it, conceal it, never let dear Audrey see….

"You've done what you wanted to," she said, moving slightly so that Audrey could feel the hard floorboards underneath the soles of her feet. "What's next?"

Audrey glanced at her, her eyes huge, reflecting tears and snowflakes and maybe dreams. "Everything," she breathed.

* * *

><p>Since Raphael wasn't sure she could necessarily give Audrey everything, she settled for letting the girl eat breakfast in the kitchen. To her, the act was trivial, setting a place at the table, letting the girl lean on her as she half-carried her out of the bedroom and through the house. But to Audrey, it was the birth of a new world.<p>

"You have no idea how awesome this is," she panted as Raphael helped her sit in the chair. She was wearing a blue bathrobe that the angel had found in a closet in the back of the house. The tailoring on the garment suggested that it had been belonged to a man, but Audrey wasn't picky. She continuously reached down and rubbed the hem of the robe over her legs.

"You know what else I'd like?" she said as Raphael arranged her breakfast tray on the table before her. "Socks."

Peals of laughter followed. They were infectious. Raphael grinned at Audrey. "I'll see what I can do," she said.

"But you've already done a lot," Audrey replied. Once more, she grabbed Raphael's hand and held it up close to her chest. It was an act of thanks and the angel cherished the sensation, loved the feel of Audrey's heart beating beneath her palm.

_Did I do this? _she silently asked herself even as the girl looked at her with open admiration. _Did I save this life?_

The answer was unforgiving. It came even though Raphael tried to keep it away.

_No, no you didn't. It was-_

Raphael reluctantly unwound her hand from Audrey's. "Socks," she muttered weakly.

"Or you could just have breakfast with me," Audrey offered with a shrug. "That would be nice. We've never sat like this before, together, at a table."

_Like a family_, Raphael thought. She looked at the empty chair on the other side of the table. The temptation was great, but she knew that this bridge was not meant to be crossed. Some boundaries existed for her own benefit and this was one of them.

But how could she tell Audrey that and not hurt her?

She couldn't. She would have to lie.

"I am going to look for socks," she said, running a gentle finger under Audrey's chin. "Eat."

Audrey's lips folded in a disappointed frown, but the expression was passing. She turned to her bowl of oatmeal with surprising relish.

"I don't know if I told you already," she said as the angel left the kitchen, "but you look really beautiful this morning. I love that dress!"

"Mmm," Raphael exhaled once through her nose. She was retreating, running away as fast as she could, leaving behind the promise of something wonderful. Stopping in the living room, she allowed herself one instant to entertain the forbidden fantasy.

_Audrey, her daughter._

And then she let go. Quickly. The break was ruthless. Fatal, almost. Raphael pressed her fingers to her lips and felt the lingering warmth of Audrey's skin. She felt incredibly alone then. Gabriel, Michael and Uriel had not stayed long after the blessing had been bestowed upon Audrey. She had not asked them to leave, but they had gone, gladly giving her the solitude they thought she desired. For the first time, Raphael began to fear this new separation between them. It was _not_ wanted. It was not gladly given and gladly received. She missed them, but she missed Gabriel most of all.

"Where," she muttered, "has my soul gone?"

The house was empty and quiet. It did not answer her back and neither did Gabriel, although she felt that he must be watching her.

She stood near one of the wide windows over the couch and saw how the snow fell. The sky was a clouded pearl and the air breathed, chilled with the fury of the wind. Only vague hints of green remained, the fingertips of the pine trees not yet covered, the world not entirely disguised beneath a heavy veil of unbroken white.

Raphael listened. She was still and listened, hoping that she might catch a whisper, might have delivered unto her what she wanted most. His promise. His constant reminder of love. Audrey was right, Raphael realized, her hand falling from her lips to her chest, why had they dared to take so many, many things for granted?

"I am here," she said, wondering if he could possibly hear her or if he even wanted to. "I'm still here..."

* * *

><p>There was a time, she knew, of infinite happiness. It came on like a hazy dream, drifting through the half-fog of sleep and wakefulness. Each moment was filled with exquisite color and light. Her heart sang the music of the world and she was giddy and silly and foolish in her love.<p>

And so was he, her Gabriel, her most beloved and blessed husband.

Raphael had never guessed how pleasant marriage could be. From afar she had watched Adam with Eve, had seen their joy, which almost appeared childish. She had been unable to understand what exactly made one soul cling to another so selfishly. She could not reconcile the emotion of love with her own existence, which was too fluid to be bound to Gabriel's. But the union had come and Raphael found herself swept away by the glory of it. She took comfort in her marriage and in her husband and in all the small beauties around her that had somehow multiplied once she understood that Gabriel was hers. Forever and ever. _Amen._

Shortly after she had wed, Raphael was perplexed to find how much her life grew…and how quickly it shrank. Her spirit and body had extended themselves to include her husband and yet, her world became narrow. She was no better than the wandering aesthetic who lived in solitude…except she lived with him and him alone.

For a time, Gabriel and Raphael enjoyed each other's company exclusively. Through their own carelessness, they overlooked Michael and made a new home without him. They kept to themselves in the Garden, away from Uriel and the others, who knew enough to respect their desire for privacy. Hours were theirs. Languid time. They learned how to be a husband and a wife through kisses and caresses and other, gentle pleasures. They hid themselves from prying intruders, enjoying the rare gift of their love, which seemed like a secret they had willingly created and quickly given away to each other.

It was a paradise within Paradise. Raphael spent her days dozing and dreaming and they would lay together in a small glade, tucked inconspicuously on the lee side of a grassy plateau. The sun was dappled, warm but not fierce, and Raphael marveled at the patterns the light made on the tree leaves. She would stretch out on her side, one cheek pressed to the ground and watch the quiet ripples in the small pond nearby, see the insects dart along the surface accompanied by the gossamer hum of their iridescent wings. Gabriel was always besides her, and he would snake his heavy arm carefully past her wings until his wrist was pressed against her waist and he could thread his fingers through hers.

Secretly, Raphael was awed by the difference in her hands. Hers were small and shapely, the palms soft and cool like moss. His were large and calloused and he had scattering of fine black hairs in the space between his knuckles and wrist. Raphael rubbed her thumb over the broad side of his hand, felt the trace of a scar he had received some long time ago.

It was a conceited sort of contentment, resting there with him. They were blinded and mindless and for the first time, Raphael only concerned herself with the immediate, with _him_. And Gabriel, she knew, felt the same. There was security in their singularity of thought. There was safety.

Raphael was lulled by the present and she hoped that it would stretch on and on, until she couldn't tell the future from what was. But then a thought occurred to her one day, when she was half-sleeping, charmed by the rhythm of her husband's breathing, which was easy and steady.

Raphael placed her ear on Gabriel's expansive chest and listened to his heartbeat for a moment. She felt his fingers in her hair and smiled. But the whole was no longer complete, or so it seemed to her. It was possible, she realized, that they were missing something. And just like that, a little crater opened up in her heart and refused to go away. She felt restless.

"Gabriel," she said, indulging the senseless agitation.

Her husband stirred. He rested his palm atop her head and made a soft noise in the back of his throat. Raphael felt the echo of it rush through his chest.

She turned her head slightly and propped her chin up near his collarbone. "Do you think Michael envies our marriage?" she asked.

For her, the question had been simple enough. Harmless. A mere curiosity. But the same was not true for Gabriel.

At once, she noticed a slight, hesitant hitch in his breathing and when he spoke, the smile was gone from his voice.

"Why would you ask such a thing?" he questioned.

Raphael raised her head a bit. She wanted to look him in the eye, felt the strong desire to search out this unexpected source of reticence in him. "I do not know," she replied truthfully, "but it occurred to me."

"Is this something you have considered for a while?"

"Of course not."

"But you thought to mention it now?"

Raphael folded her hands over his chest. For some reason, she felt the need to reassure him. "It does not matter," she said. "I never-"

"No," Gabriel interrupted, the word loud, a peal of thunder roaring inside him. "No, Michael is not envious."

* * *

><p>Raphael sat alone next to a creek, her reflection showing in the low ripples and slow-moving waves that moved downstream. She pressed her hands to her abdomen and felt the muscle there, the depressing flatness, the emptiness within. Her reflection showed a frown, sadness, a question that she could never have answered.<p>

_A child. Like Eve's. Like all other women. What if she could have a child?_

A shadow fell over her. Raphael started and glanced up. For some reason, she didn't want it to be Gabriel. _Please, please, let it not be Gabriel._

Michael's expression was guarded as he gazed down at her. "What do you look at?" he asked, his voice a rough whisper.

Raphael did not trust the subdued glint in his eyes, his too bright eyes. She felt that he was keeping something from her, a secret, a question that he also wanted to have answered but couldn't.

Raphael dropped her hands down to her knees. "Nothing," she said, feeling, for all the world, that he was frightened of her.

But why? What had changed?

_Gabriel…_

She was suddenly uneasy and it troubled her to think that Michael had withdrawn from her after her marriage…or maybe she had pushed him away? The pleasant little gurgles of the creek filled her ears. Raphael concentrated on the fluid sounds, her mind lulled into comfortable denial even when she thought she noticed a few tears in Michael's eyes.

Her feet were cold and she flexed them against the stone, enjoying the touch of the warm rock on her bare skin. How could she possibly tell Michael that she wanted him to leave now? Was this a farewell?

He put his hand on her shoulder, his fingertips brushing her wing. Raphael couldn't help it. She shivered. The touch lingered, turned into a caress. Michael stroked her wing, his hand moving down to her arm, playing along the soft flesh of her wrist.

"I only want to know," he said, "one thing, I only want to know…"

"What is it?" She looked at the stream again, her reflection caught in the wild glimmer of the sun, the waves rising like silver scales as the wind teased the water. It should have been a beautiful moment, but it wasn't. The scent of the springtime flowers overwhelmed her. Lavender and daisies. Virgin leaves and deep, verdant grass. The tips of Raphael's fingers went chilled and she felt the touch of winter. Michael's palm was cold as it glided over her wrist. He took a deep breath.

"Are you happy?" Michael asked her.

There was an insinuation in his question. Raphael hated the baseless hope in his tone. At once, she knew what he meant and was frightened. Her cruelty, she felt, must be subtle. She could not bear to hurt him, could not bring herself to tear open the private wound she was beginning to suspect he carried in silence. But perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps the insinuation itself was a delusion and Raphael was only looking at a mirage.

_I would rather doubt myself_, she thought, _than doubt him. Please, please, let me be wrong._

"I love my husband," Raphael said, giving him the only answer she could, the only truth she would ever have. She didn't dare look at him though, lest she see the tears in his eyes again and understand, once and for all, that she had _not_ been wrong.

Michael said nothing for a time, but he kept his hand on her wrist a moment longer.

* * *

><p>It was difficult for Raphael to admit to herself that Gabriel and Michael were often at odds. Their arguments were for the most part petty, but when viewed as a whole, she felt convinced that they must sometimes hate each other. Michael was arrogant and stubborn. Gabriel was unforgiving. And they both seemed to relish their interludes of viciousness, when all pretense fell away and words became jagged and Raphael could only watch, because she was always caught in the middle.<p>

They quarreled over orders. They quarreled over faith. And occasionally, they would quarrel over her, their admonitions and reproaches and fetid accusations running thick like clotted blood.

It was a very keen torture for Raphael. She was unhappy. She stood waist-deep in their tempest-stirred sea and tried to stem the flood. But then the water would rise to her neck and she would drown herself if only to save them. Somehow, she _had_ to save them.

There was only one occasion when she ever considered giving up. The day had been uncommonly cold, the end of autumn, and she had followed Gabriel to the pine tree grove that had once been sacred to her, but now seemed entirely ordinary. Her husband was alone and the sight of his shadow daunted even her as she slipped around the shapely trunks. Her hair was threaded with the sticky little needles and the fragrance of the trees was dark, the incense of an aged forest. Raphael recognized the anger in Gabriel's bearing. He stretched his wings out to their full span and then let them drop uselessly. It was an exercise in futilely, a hint of volatile annoyance.

And for the first time, Raphael felt her own fury build…at him.

"Again?" she asked, making her voice heard over the metallic chime of his feathers. "You have quarreled with Michael."

"_Again_," he echoed hotly. "Do not ask me to speak with him now. This time I will not repent. Raphael, the fault was _not_ mine, I swear it."

She sighed. She pressed a finger to her brow and felt the tempo of her pulse. Slow. Steady. "Gabriel," she said, speaking his name but finding no joy in it. Weariness cloaked her. She shook her limbs and tried to dispel the malaise. It wouldn't budge. She was trapped and she was tired.

"I have nothing," Raphael said. She folded her legs underneath her and dropped to the ground, the needles scratching her bare ankles.

Gabriel glanced over his shoulder at her. "I am sorry you have to bear this," he said.

"No," Raphael replied. "I do not think I can believe you."

She never thought her husband would look stunned, but he did. His jaw went slack and shame pulled at his mouth, taking away the practiced indifference that he always kept between himself and the world.

"I have wounded you," he said, "somehow."

Raphael was troubled by his sudden desperation, which made her feel guilty. She had unknowingly drawn a line in the sand and taken a side. Not his. Not Michael's. But her own.

_I wonder what would happen_, she thought, _if I was selfish now. Would it stop them? Could it possibly heal them?_

She was not certain and yet, it was the question itself that guided her. Her convictions were bolstered. She considered the price of victory, a definitive end to their quarrels, a reprieve from her pain.

Raphael wished she was more eloquent than she was. She wanted to tell them how damaging their arguments were, how every misplaced word and threat was a new agony, a new bead of sharp glass pressed beneath her skin. A part of her was naïve enough to think that that alone might stop them, but Raphael had too much of the realist in her yet.

She glanced up at Gabriel, her husband, her soul and her life. The very echo of her being who inspired her to hope…and occasionally, to despair.

_Appeal to him_, reason told her. _Hold his heart against yours and let him listen. He might hear it yet. He might understand._

It was worth a small chance, at least.

Raphael stayed where she was, seated on the ground beneath the temple of pines. "In your life," she said, "you have made one vow to me, Gabriel."

"Which I have kept," he replied fervently, hand out-stretched. "Which I will always keep."

"But there is one more," she continued. "I would ask a second thing of you."

Gabriel lowered his arm. She wondered if he knew what was coming.

Raphael let the silence breathe around them, she let him feel her own worrisome torment and the anxiety that had added an ache to her burdened life.

"If you can," she said, "I want to you to swear not to quarrel with Michael-"

"You ask the impossible-"

"If only you would try," Raphael insisted. "The effort alone would sustain me and I will cherish your avowal. I will never ask for anything from you again. Only this. I ask it as a wife. As _your_ wife. Try. Please, please _try_."

She had hoped he wouldn't hesitate, but he did. The moment of indecision was painful, awaiting the storm. Awaiting the end…or perhaps the beginning.

_You are hurting them_, she told herself. _But only because they are hurting you. And it can stop. _You _are strong enough to stop it._

Gabriel lowered his gaze. For an instant, Raphael thought he was going to refuse her. But he didn't. He never did.

"I promise," he said, the echo of his vow spiraling high amongst the trees, resonating amongst the lowest clouds in the distant sky. "I can try."

* * *

><p>Their Father called to them. He brought them into His Sanctuary, in the place where the world had begun and where it would now end. And in His love, Raphael recognized only sorrow, a sadness that touched her and Michael and Gabriel and Uriel and all the others.<p>

They were granted the wisdom of the end times. They were told that the world of men would fall and that prayers would go unanswered and that at last, the sacred union between Heaven and Earth would be tested.

Uriel bowed his head and wept when he heard the orders. Raphael stood with Gabriel and unknowingly, they reached for each other, hands entwined, sharing the burden of despair that had been given to them and would soon be given to all of humanity.

Michael alone seemed unmoved.

Raphael reached for his hand, her fingertips grazing the side of his palm, but it was too late. He was already pulling away from her.

* * *

><p>Raphael wasn't prepared when Michael came to speak to her. She had expected some defiance from him, intermingled with sorrow and regret and a desire to set right what would soon go wrong. She thought he might show anger, ball his hands into tight fists, rage against himself and her and all that was obscure still. She thought he might even cry. But what met her in the Garden that afternoon, that cool, resigned shadow that lurked amongst the maple trees, disturbed her more than any vision she had of him. Michael appeared before her, his bearing too calm and calculated to suit the chaos around him. Raphael knew then that she should be frightened. She tasted the first of mortality and saw an end to the everlasting.<p>

This apocalypse was not meant for men alone, she realized. But for them as well.

"I wish you would not look at me so," Michael said, the great bulk of his wings framing his lithe body. He appeared ungainly, standing there a few feet away from her. Unbalanced.

Raphael could not help it. Her expression was reserved. Cautious. "No games," she warned him. "Tell me now what you are planning to do."

Michael accepted her forthrightness. He tilted his head to the side, observed her as if she were a stranger, a new creature that had recently been given the gift of life but did not yet know how to live. Slowly, gently, he reached out and touched her shoulder.

"I want to appeal to you," he said, "as a nurturer. As a childless mother."

Raphael knew then what his intentions were. She stiffened, hating the way the heat of his fingers seeped through the sleeve of her robe. There was a certain pressure in his touch. A promise of something that she did not dare name.

Raphael swallowed. "Michael, stop this."

"I will be ordered to kill the child while he slumbers in his mother's womb. Can you condone that?"

"The task is not mine."

"No." He paused and pressed his lips together. "Nor will it be mine. Come with me, Raphael. You can help me protect the child. You can fulfill the maternal longing that lives within you. Come with me, Raphael. Once and for all. Come with _me._"

Silence. She was heartbroken.

"I think you've made your point now," Raphael said. She stood amidst the trees. Amidst the verdant green life their Father had created, untouched and unsullied by mankind. "It's enough, Michael. _Enough_."

He began to pace, the sun-light flittering through the leaves above and landing on his wings. His feathers were bright, the edges honed to a perfect razor. Overhead, patches of blue sky showed through the branches.

"You will not take a side," he said and Raphael was surprised when she heard a grudging accusation in his voice. Was he mad at her? She felt the first of fear, of real, heart-shaking, soul-shattering fear. Michael had never been angry with her before and she had never been angry with him. Why now? What had changed?

Was it her fault?

"This is a tragedy," she said. "I can see it. Feel it. This must not happen."

"Neutrality," Michael threw back at her, "is dangerous."

"You cannot ask this of me," her voice wavered, echoing the gurgling uncertainty of the nearby brook which purled and murmured in its stone-strewn bank. The air was clean and pure. The breezes soft. And yet when the wind stirred, rustling the leaves and long strands of grass and she could feel only desperation, only fear for the delicacy of it all. Everything was impermanent, she realized. Even Michael. Even Gabriel.

Everything.

"I know you will not betray Gabriel." He rolled his eyes in her direction.

"And neither should you," Raphael replied. She still had some of her courage left, a pitiful shred of bravery that even now was running out, running through her fingers like sand. "Do not do this. Do not disobey our Lord."

"Because you will never disobey?" Michael was challenging her.

She faltered. Oh, her strength was false. A pantomime. She had nothing. Only emptiness. Only fear. Only weakness. Raphael felt her knees give way and she leaned against the bole of a tree, her wings shearing some of the soft bark from the trunk. The smell of warm wood and grass and sun rose around her. It was sickening.

"I will not," she said, forcing herself to be firm. "And neither will Gabriel. You know this. You know what your rebellion will bring. The end. This is the end."

Michael paused and looked over his shoulder at her. He smiled and she was sick. "I welcome it," he said.

* * *

><p>The air was rank with her disappointment and regret. Raphael sat on a window ledge, accustomed to her stale tears, and watched as her husband donned his armor. His movements were meticulous, deliberate. He took his time. First the cuirass, then the graves. He lingered over the vambraces, fumbled with the leather straps. Raphael was keen-eyed enough to notice that his fingers were trembling. A sign of hesitance, she hoped. Was it possible that he could relent now, even when the hour was so late and night was swift falling over the high battlements that guarded the outermost realms of Heaven?<p>

Raphael felt unwanted, sitting there alone in the armory with him. She had followed him there unbidden. She had become his shadow, his conscience, trailing behind him in a vain effort to show him just how dangerous his actions were, how horrifically perilous. But Gabriel was a stoic yet, and if he was torn and tortured by the same fear she felt, he did not show it.

Raphael hated his restraint sometimes. She hated the clearness of his eyes, which betrayed nothing except emptiness. When had she lost her knowledge of him? When had he become a stranger?

Now, she realized. It was all happening now.

Her fingers fisted in the folds of her robe. She kept her back pressed to the cool stone wall like a hunted beast, like a poor, bewildered animal trapped in a corner. And she wanted to lash out. Teeth bared. A rabid dog. What they were doing…oh Father, what they were going to do…

Gabriel must have felt her vengeful gaze on him. He lost his grip on one of the vambraces and it clattered to the floor. For a moment, he did not reach to pick it up, only stood there, immobile. Raphael thought he was going to cry. She wished he would.

Slowly, she got to her feet and stretched her wings. The moon had come. It greeted them with an indifferent face, its smooth, ivory belly hanging low in the inky eastern sky. The early stars looked deceptively old.

Drums, drums sounded in her ears.

"Gabriel," she said, not bothering to weigh her words. The time for judgment and consideration was gone. She had nothing left but her own terror, which bordered on hysteria. "Do not do this."

He didn't respond. Bending at the waist, he retrieved his vambrace. "You should have gone with Michael," he said at length, "if you wished to thwart our Father's will."

That wounded her, but she kept the pain to herself, gnawing mercilessly on her lip as she rode out the waves of agony. Raphael knew she was ever faithful, ever loyal. She cherished her devotion and piety. But for the first time, she felt that this tragedy might supersede faith. It was about her. It was about them and their brotherhood. It was about Michael, who had left Heaven and torn off his wings. It was about Gabriel, who had orders to kill him.

"Please," she said. She wanted it to be the last thing she said to him, even if he didn't listen. No more begging. Her tears and protests were for naught. She was done. They were finished and it was all over.

Gabriel fastened his vambrace. He looked directly at the floor in front of him and not at her. Raphael wondered what would happen if he met her gaze. Would he be tempted to relent?

No.

"Gabriel," she spoke his name one last time before he turned to go. He was reaching for his mace, that ugly spiked contraption. And oh, she could only think of Michael's flesh, his surprisingly fragile skin and bones and river-blue veins. Blood, there would be so much wretched blood.

"I do not think I will be able to forgive you for this," she told her husband. He needed to know that, if nothing else. The truth was a thing of constancy even amidst chaos and it steadied her.

Gabriel said nothing. Oh Father, why wouldn't he at least give her something?

Raphael let him go, still convinced that she could have stopped him, that she could have shed her blood instead of Michael's. The night was heavy around her, his footsteps to echo back to her as he walked out of the armory and down to the edge of the battlements. The first of the trumpets sounded when he took flight, replacing the noise of her drumming heartbeat which had long since destroyed the very last of her cherished peace.

And Raphael stood alone.

* * *

><p>She waited. Counted the minutes. The breaths. The spaces between her life, which dripped by almost unnoticed. Raphael waited in the armory until she could wait no more. It was enough. Enough.<p>

She found her own armor, which necessity demanded she don more frequently in those later years, and she arranged each piece on her slender frame. She took her sword, even though she prayed she wouldn't need it, and she pushed her bare feet into thick-soled boots. And in those counted minutes and breaths and small seeds of unnoticed life, Raphael began to lose herself. She surrendered. She gave way. She let go of herself until there was absolutely nothing left.

Not even her love for him.

But she didn't want to be alone. Her solitude was frigid, a chill that filled the hollow places inside her. Raphael left the armory and she went to the Garden. Uriel was there. He sat on a smooth boulder by a stream.

_Beautiful child_, she thought, observing the youngest of the archangels in his blessed innocence. Moonlight made his skin sliver and he did not look up at her when she approached. The water rippled. Uriel plucked a blade of grass, twisted it between his fingers and then tossed it into the stream.

"I heard the trumpets," he said. "Some time ago."

"I know," Raphael replied. "Me too."

"They are gone then?"

"Yes."

"You couldn't make them listen to you," Uriel sighed.

And Raphael was almost undone, listening to him. She gripped her sword hilt and thought of blood. Michael's blood. Gabriel's blood. Everywhere.

Looking at Uriel, she realized that he was weeping.

"Will you help me?" she asked, letting some of her weakness shine through and reach out to his own vulnerability. "I don't want to be alone for this."

He took his time. Plucked another blade of grass. Tied it into a tiny knot.

"Yes," Uriel said, although he stayed seated on the rock. "I will go with you…"

* * *

><p>Raphael blinked. Her eyelashes were wet. She touched her finger to her cheek and felt a sheen of moisture on her skin. Tears. She had begun to weep. How frightfully embarrassing.<p>

Behind her in the kitchen, Raphael heard Audrey finishing up her breakfast. She knew she should help the girl, clear the dishes from the table, pour her a fresh cup of tea, do everything she possibly could to infuse the tiny cabin with tender joy and comfort. But she was still. She was frozen. She stood by the windows in the living room and watched the snow as it drifted lazily through the tree branches. The farthest reaches of the lake had frozen over, a delicate layer of ice stretching over the water. The flower beds in the backyard would be buried, as would the gravel path. Raphael turned her head slightly and saw the mason jar with the lilacs sitting on the coffee table.

More tears. She felt wretchedly unworthy. A creature of fragility. A soul without purpose. What would it mean if she was truly useless? And what would it mean if she was unwanted? Was it possible that she had done this to herself? Gabriel and Michael were easy to blame, but Raphael was beginning to suspect that she was the true villain.

Her lips parted, a small sob rising up within her lungs. _Dearest God, dearest Father, don't let Audrey hear me cry. _That would be the last straw, really, if the girl saw what a fraud she was, if she knew what Raphael had done to her marriage and to herself.

"Raphael?" There was a question in Audrey's voice and the angel hated the sudden timidity in the girl's tone. It seemed odd that such a brash, brilliant, outspoken young woman should sound reticent.

Raphael frowned, hating herself all the more. "I am coming," she said, aware of how thick her own voice sounded. She pressed her cool fingertips to her cheeks, tried to ease the reddened puffiness around her eyes. Her breathing was unsteady. Ragged. Why was it so hard to be calm now?

_Because you finally realize what you have done_, reason told her. Raphael stiffened, accepting the blame even though it was painful. Was there absolutely nothing left of her steadfast conviction? Could she not convince herself that she was right, that she had only acted with a pure heart and had tried to restore peace to the life she cherished?

"But I haven't," Raphael muttered, her hands wrapping around her elbows. Gabriel and Michael might be guilty of their quarrel, but she had done something worse. She had taken them both and twisted them, molded their souls and their hearts until she thought they were acceptable. She had forced them to deny themselves, over and over and over again. She had scorned her husband, who loved her. She had left him, because she was spiteful and just arrogant enough to believe that she was in the right. She had destroyed her marriage and was destroying it still, as she stood in the cabin with the snow falling softly around her. This fantasy was a shield. It was a lie. She had deluded herself and she had hurt them.

"Raphael?"

She heard chair legs scraping across the kitchen floor. Instinct awoke in her and Raphael whirled around, rushing from the living room. "No, don't try to get up, Audrey," she said, still blinded by her merciless tears. "Your muscles are too weak, not strong enough…you will fall-"

But Audrey was still sitting in her chair, her arms resting casually on the edge of the table. She had the spoon from her tea cup in one hand and was rolling it between her fingers. One eyebrow was arched, her expression a curious mixture of skepticism and what seemed to be concern.

Raphael stopped on the threshold of the kitchen. There was nothing for it now, she realized. Once more, she raised her hand and tried to wipe away her tears.

"Excuse me," she mumbled, hating her own ineloquence, her lowly emotion which burned and seethed beneath her desperate calm. "I am sorry. Excuse me, Audrey."

The girl raised her other eyebrow. "Raphael, are you _crying_?" she asked.

And oh, there was such beautiful innocence in that voice. Raphael almost collapsed under the glorious weight of it. She felt as though she had disappointed herself and Audrey. She had jeopardized the pleasant atmosphere in their small haven away from the hostile world.

She looked across the kitchen and saw one of the dish towels hanging over the lip of the sink. Taking a hesitant step forward, she reached for it, intending to scrub her face clean of shame until she was rosy-cheeked and smiling again. But the stain was too deep, an inkblot on her soul. It poisoned her blood and her bones and her very being until she was forced to identify with it.

Raphael glanced nervously at Audrey. There was nothing for it, she knew. Absolutely nothing for it.

"Yes," she replied, wishing her voice was somehow steadier. "I am crying."

She did not know what she expected from Audrey. The girl was notoriously temperamental and it was hard to predict her reactions even when her mood seemed stable. Raphael watched as Audrey put down her spoon, her mouth twisting as though she had gotten a taste of something particularly bad.

_I've upset her_, the angel thought. _I've ruined this moment for her because I am selfish. Why did Michael and Gabriel never tell me how selfish I am? _

Audrey swiveled in her chair as best she could, her legs swinging over the side of the seat until she faced Raphael. Her features were almost deadpan and she dropped her hands onto her lap, clearly savoring the feel of flesh against flesh.

"Raphael," she said, "come here for a second."

It wasn't a question, the angel knew. But a clear order. Under different circumstances, she might have been amused or even slightly offended at the prospect of being ordered about by a mere slip of a human girl. It was, in a way, degrading. And yet, Raphael felt that she had already degraded herself enough with her own misguided actions.

Still, she was hesitant as she moved near the child, unable to cede what might have been the very last of her pride. Audrey was resilient though, and she reached up, tugging on Raphael's hand until the angel was forced to crouch next to the chair. They were eye to eye now. Raphael made one last move to hide her tears, but then thought better of it. She let Audrey hold her both her hands, enjoying the fleeting warmth of the girl's soft palms against her knuckles.

Audrey's mouth dipped, her frown not hard, but soft and sympathetic. "You're thinking about Gabriel, aren't you?" she asked.

Raphael searched her tone for an accusation, but found none. She shifted and dropped forward onto her knees, the hem of her long gown covering her sandaled feet. "I was thinking about him," she admitted. "And…other things."

"You miss him?"

"Yes."

"You love him?"

"Yes."

Audrey lowered her eyes for a minute and appeared indecisive. Slowly, she lifted her arms and tried to arrange them around Raphael's shoulders, just above her wings. The angel understood what was happening and unconsciously, she obliged the girl, accepting the tentative embrace that seemed so weak, but still managed to envelope her tired body.

"I'm so sorry," Audrey said. Her chin was resting on the top of Raphael's head and she gave the angel an extra squeeze with her thin arms. "You can be upset, you know. It's all right. It's allowed."

And how wondrous it was, Raphael would later think, that it took only the acknowledgment of a young human girl to make her cry. Truly cry. Her throat constricted, painfully and she tried to hold onto what remained of her restraint. But despair itself was treacherous, a seething flood, a roaring tide that rushed upon her until she could no longer count her tears nor make sense of her sorrow.

Raphael wept and she let Audrey hold her. In that blind moment of grief, she remembered how it had felt when she had taken the girl into _her_ arms. Comfort was a blessing, one that she was happy to extend, but found it difficult to accept. It took most of her flagging strength to remain still and she battled with herself, with this role reversal that seemed too aberrant. Somehow, she had been relieved of her own nature. What she was or what she had hoped to be no longer existed. She could not heal but for her own sickness. She could not nurture when she herself was bereft.

Raphael closed her eyes, hating the sweet stickiness of her tears. There was a pounding in her ears that she first took to be Audrey's heartbeat, although the sound came from within her. It was the broken pulse of her life, ebbing away. It was defeat, loud and clear. She had accused Michael. She had cursed Gabriel, but she had also overlooked herself.

"Physician," she muttered, remembering her husband's admonition, which seemed so perfectly apt. "Physician, heal thyself."

Audrey stirred. She placed the flat of her hand between the angel's wings and kept it there for a long minute, exuding an almost preternatural warmth and strength.

"Listen," she said. "When I was a freshman in high school, we had this thing. It was really stupid. They called it Song Contest…I think. God, I can't even remember and it was only, like, four years ago. Anyway, each grade had to put on a performance for the school. We had to learn a song and do this _really_ embarrassing dance routine. For some reason, the freshman class picked that Beatles song. You know, it's called, uhhh, it's called _Hey Jude_. I don't know, at the time I thought it was so ridiculous and I hated having to memorize all the words and sing and dance in front of the whole student body. Thank God my parents let me transfer out of there at the end of my first year. I probably would have gone nuts or something. But you know that song? Yeah, well, the funny thing is, I still sing it sometimes. I'll just find myself humming it under my breath, mumbling along to the melody. I hate to admit it, but it is a catchy song, even if I don't like the Beatles. You ever hear that song, Raphael?"

The angel lifted her head, feeling utterly wordless. She did not know what she was supposed to say and Audrey only greeted her confusion with an encouraging grin.

"Okay, I guess you don't know the song," she said with a little sigh. "It kinda goes like this, though…_Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better._" Audrey paused and laughed at herself, her voice warbling and high, not exactly musical, but endearing in its vulnerability. "And then there's this other part," she explained, picking up the tune again, "_And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain . Don't carry the world upon your shoulders. For well you know that it's a fool, who plays it cool, by making his world a little colder. Na Na Na Na._" Another laugh. "There are like fifty _na na nas_ in there," Audrey said. "I swear."

Raphael opened her mouth, her tongue dry. She wasn't certain if she was supposed to say something. She wasn't sure if she was meant to start singing or not, but her resolve floundered. She looked at Audrey, hopeless and told the girl silently of her heartbreak, of her love which had simply burned up and fallen to pieces right before her eyes.

And there was only so much she could do, only so many she could heal. Not anymore, though. Not anymore.

Audrey's smile faded a little as she looked at the angel. Placing her fingers on either side of Raphael's face, she wiped away the tears even when they wouldn't stop falling.

"Hey," she said. "Don't worry. You fixed me, now I promise, I promise you, Raphael, we're going to fix you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>The title of this chapter comes from Stieg Larsson's book "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo". The main character of the novel, Lisbeth Salander, often keeps herself out of trouble by repeating the motto "analysis of consequences" before acting impulsively. I think Raphael could certainly learn a thing or two from her.

Thanks so much for stopping by and taking the time to read! In chapter seventeen, Gabriel attempts to make peace with mankind through Audrey. Raphael gets a reality check when Michael reveals a shocking secret about her creation. With any luck, I should have the next installment posted in roughly twelve days. Until then, take care and be well, everyone!

_*The lyrics in this chapter are indeed taken from the Beatles song "Hey Jude" attributed to Lennon-McCartney _


	17. Chapter Seventeen Unfortunate Casualty

**Author's Note: **Here we are, another new chapter. This one was a little tricky, I have to admit. These characters have way too much baggage, haha.

As usual, I would like to thank all my wonderful readers and reviewers, **saichick, Maladicta, Cotton Strings, piper, Jenny Joker, **and **savyleec**. Also, I have to thank everyone who has added this story to their favorites/author alerts lists. Your feedback and encouragement made my Christmas quite merry indeed. Thank you! I do hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Seventeen An Unfortunate Casualty **

Audrey watched as Raphael discreetly dried her tears with the edge of the dirty dish towel. Her stomach was tied up in an uncomfortable knot and she felt just a little bit guilty for being so happy when the angel was clearly miserable. She hooked one arm over the back of her chair. The quiet of the house was deceptive. She almost wished that Raphael would start smashing the breakfast dishes as she piled them in the sink. That's what her mom used to do, anyway.

But this passivity, Audrey was convinced, was not healthy. It was a volatile bundle of pent-up rage and choked back tears and lots of other ugly, nasty things that didn't serve any one well. There needed to be something, she felt. A disruption. A little bit of chaos that could shake Raphael's stubborn sorrow and bring her back to herself…or what Audrey thought she might be like.

She rested her chin on the back of the chair, enjoying the delicious friction of her toes as they brushed against the cold tile floor. "Life isn't fair, is it?" she asked.

Raphael didn't respond right away. She turned on the sink faucet with a fluid flick of her wrist, testing the water with her finger. "It wasn't meant to be," she said at length.

Audrey hated how resigned the angel sounded, her voice still thick with those rattling sobs. Her arms tingled when she remembered how it had felt to hold Raphael so close to her, to witness the celestial, the spiritual, manifested in the physical. It made her feel a little unworthy and a little weak, but she thought that any misgivings she had were a fair exchange for having been able to comfort an angel.

She lifted her head off the back of the chair and pulled the collar of the warm robe up around her neck. It smelled very faintly of cologne and maybe mothballs. Raphael's back was to her and she tried to count the feathers on her right wing. She lost track at around thirty.

"I'm sorry everything sucks right now," Audrey said. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the spray of water from the faucet.

Raphael was using a sponge, one of those brown, shapeless ones, to scrub out a bowl. "Are you patronizing me?" the angel asked.

Audrey was so stunned she almost fell off her chair. "What? No! I didn't mean it like-"

Raphael chuckled. But her laugh was labored, soured by the bitter tears she had struggled to push away. The angel was making an effort, a valiant effort, to appear normal again.

"Do not let my misery drag you down," she said gently. "Please, promise me you won't-"

"But I want to help you," Audrey insisted. Raphael had gone above and beyond to save her life. Karma demanded she do something. Pay it forward. _You fixed me, now I promise, I promise you, we're going to fix this._

It wasn't about owing Raphael a debt, Audrey decided. It was about helping someone who needed to be helped. She'd never done that before, never extended herself in a way without considering the consequences to her own well being.

But Raphael was worth it, wasn't she? Audrey dropped her hands over her knees and squeezed, the warmth of her palms seeping through the robe to her living flesh. Yeah, she was definitely worth it.

Raphael glanced at her over the crook of her wing and her expression definitely _was _patronizing. "I admire your intention."

"You know, you could use a little faith yourself," the girl replied. She was trying to seem indignant, but her tone came off as affected. It was nearly impossible to scold an angel.

And Raphael knew it. "I'm sorry, my beautiful child, but you would be wise not to debate matters of theology with me. I will always win, I promise you that."

"Yeah, well, if you'd hop down off your high horse for one minute and actually ask for help-"

"What manner of help?"

"Raphael!" Audrey slapped the flat of her palm against the tabletop. The cold metal stung her hand and she was surprised when the angel abandoned her chore and turned around to face her.

Raphael had the decency to look incredulous. Her mouth opened and she seemed on the verge of saying something, but then the wind rose and hail pattered against the window. For an instant, Audrey was bewitched by the wild dance of the snow, her eyes blinded by the beauty of a world that was still very much alive despite a so-called apocalypse.

Raphael too seemed taken aback and she leaned over the sink, standing on her tip-toes to get a better look out the window. When she glanced back at Audrey, her mouth was pulled into a questionable frown. "We have company," she said.

Audrey pulled her robe closer around her neck. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Raphael sighed. "One never knows." She said it with such a dramatic flair that Audrey sniggered.

Instead of going to the door, Raphael stayed in the kitchen and continued to wash the dishes. Audrey thought she was being unreasonably obstinate, but she said nothing. She had learned, in quite a short amount of time, never to question the angel's motives.

A cold blast of air seeped in through the living room and booted feet tramped over the floorboards. Michael and Gabriel entered the kitchen at once, with Uriel lingering on the threshold. The younger angel gave Audrey a bright smile which she was only too happy to return.

Raphael never looked up from the sink. "Good morning," she said stiffly.

"Good morning," Michael replied. He was standing a few feet away from Audrey near the other side of the table and he gave her an appraising glance, one that took in her bare feet which peeked out from underneath the hem of her blue robe.

He nodded once, apparently in satisfaction.

Audrey grinned at him. It was hard to contain her joy. "Morning," she said, her voice light and girlish. But the softness of the moment was soon disrupted by sinister tension. Gabriel's shadow loomed over her. He was standing by the kitchen counter next to the sink, his hesitation palpable as he watched Raphael rinse a spoon under the stream of water. His breathing was quick, a veritable pant and he seemed to be waiting for something, waiting…God, the anticipation was nearly agonizing.

Raphael did not reward him right away. She took her time, dropping the gleaming spoon into the dish drain with a little more force than was necessary. At last, she turned to her husband, her expression erring towards gentle, if not affectionate.

"There is snow in your hair," she said.

Gabriel blinked and ran his palm over his close-cropped, black hair. A few crystals of ice slid down his forehead, looking like sweat.

Raphael didn't glance at him again, but she handed him the dish towel that was hanging over the sink.

Gabriel took it from her and in leaning forward, he kissed her on the cheek. "How are you?" he asked.

Raphael shrugged, although the gesture wasn't necessarily rude. "I am well."

"Your eyes," Gabriel began, gesturing at the puffy redness around them.

Raphael stared at the sink. "I said I was fine," she replied, her voice tight, maybe even a bit self-conscious.

Gabriel, however, obviously didn't know when to retreat. "You look tired," he observed, moving an inch closer to her. His height overwhelmed Raphael's slender frame and Audrey found herself marveling at the oddity of them as a couple. They were not a match, really, no matter how she looked at them.

But Raphael managed to surprise her…and Gabriel. Reaching out, she placed her hand, still damp with soap, on his chest, her fingers splayed out against his cuirass.

"We are _all _tired," she said. And for a moment they stood together like that, the hot water from the faucet creating a halo of steam around them.

Gabriel was the first to step away, raising the towel to his face and then his head. Audrey could see Raphael watching him dry his hair out of the corner of her eye. It was passive aggression at its best, and she was reminded of her mom, who was famous for giving her dad the silent treatment for long stretches, taking weeks to thaw. Secretly, Audrey found herself hoping that Raphael was beginning to melt a little, not that she gave a rat's ass about Gabriel's peace of mind, although she knew he must have made his wife happy once. For some reason, she had trouble picturing them as married. Maybe it was because she still thought Gabriel was a monster. Or maybe it was because they just didn't seem like a good fit.

_Sometimes I think it would have been better if Raphael hadn't married Gabriel_. Uriel had said that, hadn't he? The notion put a sour feeling in her stomach. She folded her hands over her middle and sat slumped in her chair.

Gabriel finished drying his hair and carefully laid the dish towel back on the counter. Audrey noticed the way his hands moved, how meticulous he seemed, how utterly thoughtful. It gave her a bit of a chill when she thought of those same hands gripping the shaft of that horrific-looking mace of his. How could Raphael, with her own gentle, healing hands, ever love someone like him?

She didn't think she would ever understand.

Audrey turned her mind away from them and all that was perplexing. She was thrilled when she saw Uriel lingering on the threshold of the kitchen. He had that same nervous look about him again, that fidgety energy that was infectious. The front of his black cuirass was slick with melted snow and she was surprised when he rubbed his arms, chasing away the goosebumps that had risen up along his flesh.

"It is very cold in here," he said.

Audrey almost laughed at that and she gave him a knowing grin, which he acknowledged with a wink. She was beginning to believe that Uriel was the only one who was blessed with complete sanity in the group. After all, only he could sneak in a seemingly harmless observation like that and have it speak volumes.

And he was right, Audrey thought. It was cold in the kitchen, although the chill had nothing to do with the temperature.

Raphael made a soft noise in the back of her throat as she lifted one of the dirty pots off the stove and into the sink. "I neglected to start the fire this morning," she said. "There are no more logs in the woodbin by the hearth, but you'll find a hatchet resting underneath the porch."

The insinuation was there, not quite an order, but a noticeable hint. Uriel recognized Raphael's statement for what it was, a dismissal and his eyebrows twitched. "Very well," he said.

Audrey felt her sympathy for him double when she saw him march out of the house and back into the snow. Being the youngest wasn't much fun, it seemed, and for the first time, Audrey realized that she was glad to have been an only child.

With Uriel gone, she felt as though her last reasonable ally had left her to fend for herself. Judging from the way things had turned out last time Michael, Gabriel and Raphael were together, she wasn't too eager to be alone with them. A hint of rancid dissension hung in the air and she couldn't relax. There were a merciless qualities about these angels. They didn't seem to care what she thought of them and they obviously didn't care what _they _thought about each other. She despised their viciousness, which was unexpected, and their shortsightedness, which wasn't exactly in keeping with their supposedly ageless wisdom.

Audrey wished there was some way she could slink away out of the room, but Raphael was right. Her legs were still weak and she thought she might attract too much attention if she tried to stand. Instead, she sat huddled in the kitchen chair, listening to the fitful spray of the water coming from the faucet. The snow was still falling past the window and she wondered just how many inches were on the ground. A lot, maybe. Enough to cool short tempers. Enough to bring peace, which was so rare. Audrey thought she'd do just about anything for a little peace.

Michael seemed to sense this and he fixed a pleasant expression on his otherwise grave countenance as he sank into the chair across from her. Audrey noticed that the fair-haired angel didn't seem to have any problem with human furniture. Unlike the others, he managed to fold his wings over the back of his seat with practiced dexterity.

"Do not worry," he said, his lips lifting in what might have been a smile. "I promise we will be civil."

"For your sake," Raphael said, although she seemed doubtful.

Gabriel alone remained silent.

"Thanks…I guess," Audrey replied dubiously. She felt bad, but she didn't really trust them…at least when they were together.

"How are you feeling?" Michael asked her. He stretched one of his tattooed arms out across the table towards her almost like a peace offering.

Audrey was glad for the change of topic. She ran her hands over her thighs, feeling the soft cloth of the robe against her legs. The sensation was simple, and yet it amazed her still. "It's awesome," she said. "It's like some kind of-"

"Miracle," Gabriel said.

Audrey was shocked. Without thinking, she looked up at him and saw him standing close by, arms crossed over his chest, his stance defensive, protective. His eyes were wary and Audrey realized that he was nearly as uncomfortable as she was. It bothered her that they had that in common. It bothered her that they shared anything at all.

She twisted her fingers in the lap of her robe, her back stiffening with an unwelcome shiver. The balance in the room seemed disturbed, leaving her lopsided. Off-kilter. And Audrey didn't trust the quiet, which resonated with uncalled for indifference. She wished that Uriel would return from his exile outside or that Michael would say something or that Raphael would give any indication that she was paying attention at all. But this time, her prayers weren't answered. Her world shrunk. Caved in on her. Left her cut off from the stability she craved, the comfort that was once so near at hand but now seemed lost. And Gabriel was standing there, watching her, asking a question that she knew she was supposed to answer.

_Fuck. What did he want?_

His sudden interest left her perturbed. Audrey's knuckles were pressed against the fleshy part of her thighs and the sensation grounded her. "A miracle," she echoed, feeling like a dumb parrot who could only mimic what it heard without any real intelligence.

Raphael abruptly shut off the sink faucet. She flicked her fingers a few times to dry them, ignoring the towel her husband had left folded on the counter. It lay there, a limp white flag, a sign of some personal surrender…or defeat, maybe.

Gabriel himself only continued to stare at Audrey and she felt that question in him, that need that she couldn't define but troubled her nonetheless. _What did he want?_

"Has your faith been restored?" he asked, having the decency to lower his eyes and relieve her from the full intensity of his gaze.

Audrey wasn't sure if he was questioning Raphael or her.

She thought about it for a moment. Prodded those deep, inscrutable places inside that were as much of a mystery to her or to anyone else. It took her a while, but she finally found her answer.

"No," Audrey said, hoping that her brutal honesty would hurt him. She wasn't feeling entirely tractable at the moment. Along the way, she had come to view Gabriel not only as a monster, but as an intruder. His presence was a disruption. It made her nervous and put Raphael in what could only be described as a bad mood. And of course, there was that potent fear that lingered within her, the echo of the memories she had tried to repress, but came crawling back to her in the deep reaches of the night. The diner. Bob's blood on the floor. The promise of damnation, which reached her through the roar of the trumpets that shook both Heaven and Earth. Faith seemed petty when held up against such a reckoning and Audrey found that she almost didn't believe in her own miracle.

The silence that pervaded the room was sickly. Raphael was still staring out the window, her reflection lost in the tempest swirl of the snowflakes. Michael sat at the table across from Audrey, his hand now tucked underneath his chin.

She wondered if they were disappointed in her. Gabriel certainly seemed to be.

The large angel blinked. "Why is that?" he asked. His persistence irritated her and she desperately wanted Michael or Raphael to put in their two cents and take some of the pressure off of her. And yet, Audrey held onto her own resilience, which fueled her bravery and made her intrepid. She thought that she could, quite literally, stand on her own two feet now. She could look what she feared most right in the eyes and not flinch. She could do something that Raphael, for all her supposed glory and power, could not even began to do.

She could help herself.

"You hurt me," Audrey told Gabriel. "Deliberately. It was because of _you_ that I needed a miracle in the first place."

"That is true," he said with a nod. "But it was not my intent to cause harm-"

"Yeah, it was."

"I hold no grudge against you-"

"Can't say the same for myself. Sorry."

"You were an unfortunate casualty." Gabriel drew himself up, although his bearing did not suggest arrogance as much as acceptance.

That puzzled Audrey. Her churning anxiety slipped a notch, giving way to curiosity. She was suddenly aware of all the soft things in the world. The snow outside. The tepid yellow paint on the kitchen walls. The clouds of steam that lingered over the sink, bringing something of the ethereal to the cold irony of that modern age.

Audrey scrutinized Gabriel. She forced herself to close the space between them. She wasn't comfortable with the paradox he presented, the angel who wasn't the least bit angelic, the guardian who was more of an avenger than a protector. But his face, when viewed with an unprejudiced eye, was not quite as stark as she had once believed it to be. There was wisdom there. Stoicism, of course. And perhaps, just perhaps, a glimmer of compassion.

Raphael had given that to him, Audrey knew at once. But what had he given to her?

With difficulty, Audrey tried to release some of her suspicion. Perhaps she had been wrong in thinking that Gabriel wanted something from her. Perhaps he was only asking for something for himself. Was he trying to apologize to her now? she wondered. Was he seeking her forgiveness?

The thought did not sit easily with Audrey, but rather, clattered around inside her, restless and harried. She looked again at Raphael's back, but the graceful curves of her wings betrayed nothing.

"Did your wife make you do this?" she questioned Gabriel.

Raphael lifted her hand and waved it vaguely. Audrey frowned, annoyed at her reticence.

"Well?" she prompted.

Michael turned in his chair. The very edge of his left wing hit the table, scraping against the tin with an unpleasant, metallic grinding. It reminded Audrey of the sound of screeching brakes, a shred of memory that had been pressed into her flesh as well as her mind. Even now, when time and distance had worn away the initial horror of the crash, she still recalled certain details that cluttered her dreams like unwanted ghosts. She remembered how the windshield had given way under Gabriel's weight and hers, leaving glass in her hair, a faint showering of stardust. She had been thrown onto the tar, crushed beneath him, the angel's heavy body rolling on top of her legs. He had grunted once, in pain, and she had screamed and that was the last thing she saw or heard before a very different angel stood over her. An angel with soft, healer's hands, who wept for all lost children and the unspent agony of the world.

"Audrey," Michael's voice pulled her back from the brink of her tattered dream.

Her eyes fluttered, some warmth behind them, and she looked across the table at him. His hand was outstretched, palm facing upwards. Another peace offering. Michael's serenity numbed the most jagged bits of her waking nightmare.

"Gabriel is trying," he explained. "We _all_ are."

"To mend," his brother added. "To heal."

Raphael flinched at that. The movement was subtle, but Audrey noticed it.

"I wish to make you understand," Gabriel continued, "that what has happened…this end…is a devastation, a tragedy for our kind as well as yours." He paused and ran his hand over his mouth. Gabriel's hesitance made Audrey's stomach squirm. She didn't like this, seeing what might have been weakness in his eyes. She didn't want to think of him as sad or lonely or hurt. And yet, a common thread existed between them, a link forged on that treacherous, torturous night, when the world had ended and Heaven seemed to lose its grace.

Gabriel steadied himself. He braced his right arm on the counter behind him, next to where Raphael stood.

His wife flinched. Again.

"Heaven loved earth," Gabriel said. "And earth trusted Heaven. Humanity has been wounded and we too bled for the children of men. All of us." He gestured at Michael, Raphael, himself. God's herald was speaking for all of God's angels.

"We came to mend," Gabriel said. "To heal. That is why I delivered your miracle to you last night, Audrey. To restore the union between Heave and earth. I gave as much as I took from you. I returned what I could of your life. I hope you will understand the blessing, even if you will not forgive me. I hope you will have some faith."

_Faith. Faith…_

Audrey was shocked. She sat in a dark, moody silence, all the wonder and joy seeping from her soul. A question had risen in her mind and it gnawed at her resolve. She felt breathless, as if she had been forced to run for her life, flee from an enemy that remained indistinct, always hidden in the shadows.

Her pulse quickened. She felt the dizzying surge of blood through her veins and all the world was a whirlwind. She could believe, in some small way, that Gabriel was capable of asking for forgiveness. She could believe that he had faith and wanted to restore hers as well. But she could not believe, no, she absolutely refused to believe that he had been the one to heal her. That was Raphael's job. That was her gift. That was the beautiful thing she had shared with Audrey and no one else.

And yet, she was infected by that singular human malice…doubt. Audrey began to doubt. "Raphael?" she asked, hating to frame her suspicion with hard, solid words.

When the angel finally turned to glance at her, she expected to find what she always saw in her. A bit of charming bewilderment. Quiet grace. The maternal affection of a mother for a daughter. But what she found instead was the truth. And it her hurt her, God, it hurt.

Raphael only held her gaze for an instant, he lips twitching in disappointment.

"Uriel ought to have returned by now," she said. "I will look for him."

She left the room, the hem of her gown trailing behind her, snagging on the raised threshold near the kitchen door.

Audrey felt her heart sink a little. The question of faith, she knew, would remain unanswered.

* * *

><p>As soon as Raphael stepped down from the porch and into the snow banks that had formed overnight on the pathway, she realized she had no intention of seeking out Uriel. Instead, she moved a few paces out from underneath overhanging roof and spread her wings, letting the brisk wind take her where it would. The air was thin, the flakes falling heavy and fast above the tree line.<p>

Raphael circled the cabin once. Her sudden desire for solitude made her feel wretchedly selfish and there was a strong pain in her heart, one the renewed its throb every time she thought of the disappointment in Audrey's eyes.

Raphael beat her wings fitfully, a hollow chill settling amongst her ruffled feathers. She skirted the edge of the lake for a few minutes, then looped back west, flying low enough to touch the treetops with her fingers.

There was a clearing in the forest about a half a mile from the house, a sloping embankment that was littered with overturned tree trunks and a few loose rocks. Snow covered most of the terrain and Raphael had to be careful when she landed, avoiding any unseen branches or stones that could pierce her sandaled feet. She alighted in the middle of the gully, her wings shirring off a few of the icicles that hung from the embankment overhead. The hem of her gown was soaked through and she studied the patterns of moisture against the grey cloth. Her ankles and calves were cold, but the discomfort was minimal. Angels were resistant, to say the least, both their souls and skins much more durable than fragile bodies of humans. The frigid temperatures brought gooseflesh to her arms, nothing more, and only the very tips of her fingers tingled with the chill.

Raphael stood in the snow for a long minute, enjoying the vaporous clouds of her breath and the errant flurries that dusted her hair with flakes. She didn't know why she felt so pensive just then, why she was bothered by all that was inconsequential, the meaningless little worries that she had once ignored but now allowed to pile up within her. Raphael put her hands on her cheeks, warmed her palms against her flushed skin. Perhaps she should have never allowed Audrey to believe that _she_ had been the one to heal her. That was wrong. Deceitful, even.

Without thinking, Raphael sank down onto one of the tree trunks, snow falling into the lap of her gown. It was hard for her to acknowledge just how bittersweet Audrey's recovery was for her. At times, she thought that she had wanted the miracle more desperately than the girl. The restorative process of healing always brought things full circle and Raphael had wanted to be the one who returned Audrey to her life. It was almost like giving birth, in a way….

Unconsciously, she brought her hands to her abdomen, her disappointment mirroring Audrey's. She had been denied. Again. Her intentions meant nothing. It was her husband Gabriel who had been granted the power to heal Audrey the night before, not Raphael.

She stiffened, recognizing her unnecessary regret, which was more than a little selfish.

Who was she lying to? Was it Audrey she had wished to mislead? Had she wanted the girl to see something in her that did not exist? Had she yearned for the child's love and so had birthed a falsehood instead?

Or perhaps her motivations were not obvious. Perhaps they ran deeper, tapping into the primal, into her fear, which seemed more real in this moment than it ever had before.

Raphael was frightened. Not for Audrey. Not even for Gabriel. But for herself. If she could not heal, if she could not fulfill the single purpose of her existence, then what was she?

The question would have to go unanswered. Her bravery failed her and she didn't think she had the strength for introspection. It was easier to get lost in hope, in the mild, yet safe dreams that she drew around herself like a warm cloak.

Raphael brushed the snow from her lap and sent it scattering over the ground. Uriel might be back now and she couldn't leave Audrey alone with Michael and Gabriel for too long. Pushing herself off the log, she dusted the snow from her back and stretched her wings. But the wind rose suddenly, the gale fierce and her hair blew into her face. Raphael blinked and looked up at pearly sky.

Michael was circling overhead, the beat of his wings rhythmic, the air buffeted around him in a great haze of hail and stinging sleet. Raphael moved towards the edge of the gully, giving him enough space to land. Snow sprayed up at her when his boots hit the ground. Raphael raised one of hands to shield herself.

"I was on my way back," she said, surprised at the indignant heat in her tone.

"So it would seem." Michael's shoulders heaved as he adjusted his armor. He shook his wings once before folding them behind his back. The gully was almost too narrow to accommodate their impressive wingspan and small avalanches of snow spilled down the embankment. Raphael felt something wet on the very top of her head. It was one of the icicles, dripping water onto her brow. She stepped back and studied the cracks in the ice. They were like veins almost, thin and trailing. Delicate and fragile. An imperfection that pleased her.

But then Michael slapped his wings once more and the movement dislodged more snow, fracturing the thin icicles until they were all lying shattered by her feet.

Raphael was annoyed. "Your vigilance is unnecessary," she said. "Did you think I had run off?"

"I couldn't begin to guess," Michael replied. "Your intemperance these days is shocking."

Her irritation evolved, grew into a slow-simmering anger. Raphael felt decidedly besieged and she watched Michael with eyes that were keen and quick. There was no simple way to avoid the potential for conflict, no circuitous route she could take away from the implied resentment. She knew that he was displeased with her, but she couldn't exactly tell why. The insinuation was enough to get under her skin, though, and the remnants of her frail peace were disturbed by a question that had always gone unanswered.

But it seemed foolish to start up the argument anew. Raphael didn't think she had the energy to oppose him, nor the desire. They were so close, she felt, to settling this shattering quarrel. Gabriel had asked Audrey for forgiveness and a reconciliation within their own marriage couldn't be far away. Raphael anticipated the resolution of their quarrel. She yearned for it. But Michael's sudden discontent was an unlikely obstacle. It stood in her path and Raphael was determined to send the wall crashing down.

She glanced once at the shards of ice near her feet. It only took one crack. One single crack.

"Please," she said, "the tone of your voice upsets me. I feel as though you have come here to scold me."

"I have," Michael responded at once. "This should be Gabriel's duty, but you have forced him into retreat. He wants his wife back. I cannot blame him for that, although I do not hold to his passivity. Something needs to be done here, Raphael. We are not finished now…just because you have finally had your way."

"You make me seem selfish," she said, truly hurt. His sudden venom scalded her and she was frightened when she realized that she didn't recognize Michael, didn't see in him the age-old companion who had first told her the names of the stars and taught her how to fly.

"Not selfish," Michael commented, "but ignorant, perhaps."

Raphael's head snapped back. She tried not to let her surprise show, but her indifference was tepid. Beads of hail hit her shoulders, pinged off her wings and she found she longed for the constant warmth of the tiny cabin. It was her harbor, her haven, her unexpected sanctuary. Standing there amongst the blackened trees, with Michael blocking her path, she felt as though she were at war again, struggling against an enemy that was all the more dangerous for its ambiguity. Her adversary remained undefined. It lurked beneath the deceptive calm of Michael's expression. It was there and she could feel it. Terrible. Powerful. All-consuming.

And she could not withstand the flood.

Her breath poured out into the air. The numbing cold finally conquered her fingertips and she felt her knuckles begin to ache. "Michael," she asked, "what are you doing?"

"This pains me," he said, taking a step towards her. "But we cannot end this, we cannot heal if you alone still live with your delusions. I never wanted to tell you these things, Raphael."

"Don't," she said, lost to her compulsive fear.

Michael face was wreathed in his sorrow. "You are misguided," he said. "You are wrong and do not realize it. I love you enough to tear away the lies, Raphael. Remember, this comes only from love."

Raphael didn't like the way the word 'love' fell from his lips. He had shaped it easily on his tongue, formed the sentiment behind it with eagerness. A small pain gnawed at her stomach and she pressed her hands to her abdomen.

"I would rather you did not go through with this," she said. For some reason, she felt as though what he was about to tell her would be worse…worse than everything that had come before, the desperation, the contention, the cruelty that they had inflicted and she had returned.

"We could go back to the way things were," Raphael said. "There is no need for strife. I understand that now, if that is what you mean. I am ready to forgive…and to ask for forgiveness. Michael, if you would only-"

"No." He held up his hand and stopped her, pushed her desperate pleas back with such force that Raphael felt as though he had struck her.

She loathed his determination and strength. It made her look weak. It made her seem just as impermanent as the shattered icicles. And she was the one who had ended up broken. Cracked. Raphael was disappointed in herself and in him. In that moment, she wanted to tell Michael that she hated him.

"Enough." He dropped his hand and Raphael retreated.

She recognized the timbre of his voice and it was not a tone he had ever used with her before. Her face burned with shame, despising the way he spoke to her, as though she were one of his soldiers, an angel of rank and file and not Raphael, the archangel who had battled with Azazel and traveled beside Tobias and healed the infirmities of those who visited the pool at Bethesda. She suffered through the indignities of his caustic reproach, her expression pained but resentful.

Michael, however, seemed to ignore her potent umbrage. He was the General again, the unbending warrior. He fixed his clear gaze on Raphael. "I will not allow you to lie to yourself," he said. "You seem lost to the fantastic ideal that all will be as it once was. You believe that we can go back after this, that we can return to what you would call peace."

"It is possible," she replied, her fear only outmatched by her anger.

Michael tilted his head to the side. "Another lie," he said. "Another delusion. No more. I am determined to put a stop to it now. Nothing will ever be the same again, Raphael. I would have you recognize and understand that. There will be no return to normalcy, because normalcy itself never existed. And you, I'm afraid, are to blame."

"Why this cruelty?" she asked. The snow had picked up again and Raphael heard a few tree branches crack under the weight of it. The noise was like a muted thunderclap, hitting her in the breastbone until she felt the echo of it reverberate throughout her body.

Michael took another step closer towards her and with a jolt of sickening misery, she realized that she was trapped. The walls of the gully were sheer behind her and she did not have enough room to spread her wings. Raphael suffered another indignity when he took hold of her, his hands braced on her forearms. Michael pulled her close and they stood as they used to in the Garden, noses touching, hearts beating in tandem, locked in a moment that was fleeting…and somehow tragic.

"It started with your creation," he said, his voice a low hum. She saw his throat bob nervously against his collar as he swallowed. "Nothing has ever been the same since then. Nothing. Have you never wondered why you were the only one, Raphael? Have you ever wondered why our Father never made you a sister? Why Lucifer and Uriel, the two archangels who came after you, were both male?"

She had. Occasionally. The question had occurred to her at odd times, but it was never troubling. Raphael had never yearned for sisterhood, her relationships with Michael and Gabriel satisfying whatever pangs of loneliness threatened her. And she honestly didn't know why it mattered so much, why Michael would even think to care…

"Free will," he said, the snow rising with the wind, flakes landing on his eyelashes, on his lips. "Our Father gave all of us free will. Lucifer betrayed us through free will. I disobeyed my orders and tore off my wings through free will. And you, Raphael, you chose Gabriel through free will."

She dropped her head and folded her hands into fists so that he would not feel her fingers trembling. Michael had told her this before, many times. The end came when she took Gabriel as her husband, not when the brothers quarreled, not when they broke their promises to her and eagerly spilled each other's blood in that accursed place. The end came…it came because of her.

But why?

"I have no understanding of this," Raphael admitted.

Michael's hands slipped down to her wrists. He pulled her close until the toes of her sandals were resting on his boots.

"I was the lonely one," he said. "Like Adam. Gabriel's brotherhood could not fulfill my heart. I longed for another and our Father saw my isolation. He made for me a suitable companion, one of my own kind. A female. A mate. And she was made for me, for _me_." His hands tightened over hers, his breathing erratic. "Gabriel knew all this. He knew and he understood. She was to be _my_ wife."

"Stop it." Raphael looked away. Her legs had gone weak at the knees and Michael's strength alone supported her. She remembered that day in Garden, her Father bringing her to them in the pine tree grove, Michael hugging her fiercely, wildly. _Raphael. Raphael_. He had called her name over and over again. _Raphael._

"You cannot do this to me," she said. "It isn't fair."

But he did not listen. Michael was holding her hands up to his mouth now and she felt his warm breath over her knuckles, the tender flesh of his lips. "Raphael."

"I love Gabriel."

"Yes," he said, although his acknowledgement was weak, a lament for some perceived loss. "Yes," he continued, "but you were mine."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Argh! This chapter was so difficult to write, especially since Gabriel is trying to speak to Raphael _through_ Audrey. I must've revised it twenty times. In fact, I'd probably still be revising if I didn't force myself to just post it.

Thanks so very much for reading! If you have some free time, please leave me a review. I thrive on feedback. In chapter eighteen, Audrey makes good on her promise and tries her hand at playing marriage counselor. Raphael learns a painful lesson about motherhood as the reality of Audrey's recovery begins to set in. The next installment is in the works and should be posted soon. Happy New Year, everyone!


	18. Chapter Eighteen Mourning Dove

**Author's Note: **Ah, finally! Gabriel and Audrey get some bonding time in this chapter, although I don't think their relationship in this story will ever be described as warm and fuzzy. ;)

As usual, I would like to thank all my great readers and reviewers, **saichick, Jenny Joker, Cotton Strings **and **piper. **Also, if you've added this story to your favorites/author alerts list, thank you as well! Your support, as always, is greatly appreciated. I do hope you enjoy this installment.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Eighteen Mourning Dove**

The snow hit the window, the flakes not soft, but winged with ice. Audrey listened to the quiet pinging against the panes for a few seconds. She let her breathe in and out. It took everything she had within her, every ounce of strength and smartass toughness, not to blame Raphael for running out on her. If she wasn't careful, the angel's sudden departure could take on the all the vile trappings of abandonment. Briefly, Audrey felt primal instinct awake inside her. She was the infant pulled from the maternal bosom too quickly. The sad little chick pushed from its nest by an uncaring mother.

Sitting there with her gangly legs and arms and women's breasts, she had to remind herself that she was indeed grown. And she had to tell herself, over and over again, that Raphael was not her mother.

Nor, apparently, did she want to be.

Audrey tried not to let the little upset stick poisonous needles into her. But the calluses on her heart were tender still, not quite formed. She felt more hurt than she would ever admit to.

And so did Gabriel, it seemed. Glancing at the angel, Audrey noticed a tempest's flash of confusion in his expression. He had followed Raphael's retreat from the kitchen with his eyes and when she was gone, he brooded in her absence. Michael, on the other hand, looked sulky for other reasons. He pulled his hand off the tabletop, the line of his neck tense and stiff. Audrey saw his wings move. They flapped against the chair-back, metal on wood.

Despite his obvious annoyance, Audrey felt much safer questioning him. There was not so much of the unknown about Michael and although he was manipulative, he did not quite personify the monstrous like Gabriel.

"Is it true?" she asked, then revised her line of questioning so that she might seem more astute. "Why didn't Raphael tell me that someone else healed me?" She didn't say Gabriel's name outright, but rather hoped the hint would be enough.

Michael stood, stretching his legs as he rose up on the balls of his feet. To Audrey, he almost looked like he was levitating. "Does it matter so much?" he replied.

Audrey took one look at Gabriel, his countenance still unforgiving even when softened by sorrow. "Yes," she said.

Michael shook his head. "I cannot fathom Raphael's mindset of late," he said, his words heavy with disgust. "She has become something of a mystery to us all."

Gabriel made a low noise in the back of his throat that almost sounded like a growl. Audrey couldn't tell if he was agreeing or disagreeing with his brother.

"I will search for her," Michael said, crossing the threshold of the kitchen over which Raphael had recently sallied. "My temper does not allow for indulgence."

Audrey decided she didn't really like the heat of his tone and she felt guilty for getting annoyed at Raphael so easily. She was reminded of Michael and Gabriel's last visit, when they had both taken turns battering and belittling the one angel they both supposedly held dear. It wasn't hard for Audrey to decide just whose side she was on.

"Please," she called after Michael, "tell Raphael that I'm not angry or anything."

Michael raised his hand in acknowledgment as he crossed into the living room, though Audrey had a distinct feeling that her words meant nothing to him. She didn't like to be ignored. In fact, she loathed it. But there seemed to be precious little she could do about it at the moment, especially when her tepid adolescent persistence was held up against the ancient and practiced stubbornness of someone like Michael.

The front door to the cabin shuddered on its mid-century hinges as Michael pulled it open. Audrey heard it slammed closed, the screen rattling with a yawning creak. For some reason, she thought of jail cells and bars and high walls. No escape. No refuge. The world was hard and cold, bereft of mothers and all the gentle blessings of bestowed comfort.

To steady herself, Audrey wrapped her arms around torso in a poor imitation of a hug. That familiar fear was thick within her, the kind that came during nightmares, out of the dark, out of the night. She shivered and hated the sensation of prickly terror playig along her skin. Animal instinct came alive within her, the fear of being watched, hunted…

Audrey looked up and found his eyes on her. Sharp and keen. Frost combined with some archaic, ageless fire. He was watching her and all at once, she understood her peril, the singular punishment that had been set aside for her at the first dawning of her life.

_Oh my God_, Audrey thought in what might or might not have been a prayer. _I've been left alone with Gabriel._

Silence for a moment. That steely stillness of winter, interrupted only by the cracking of ice and the murmured insinuations of the wind. Sitting there in her chair by the table, Audrey told herself that she wouldn't be frightened. She'd beaten Gabriel. Seen him bruised, both inside and out. He wasn't a threat. And he wasn't going to make her nervous in a house that she was beginning to think of as her own. This was her game, her time, her turn. With surprising ease, Audrey managed to subdue the churning in her stomach and focused instead on the world around her, the safe little cocoon she had created for herself that he would never, ever invade.

Audrey became aware of a faint ticking. It was a small sound, something that manifested itself in the back of her consciousness, slowly working its way to the fore of her mind until she couldn't ignore it. The silent cabin creaked and settled around her. Audrey tucked her hands inside the voluminous pockets of her robe. Uriel hadn't returned with the logs yet and the hearth was scattered with only cold ashes. And when the wind blew, tiny streams of chilled air found their way underneath doors and through the thin cracks in the walls. Audrey shuddered, trying to place the source of the ticking. She had never truly realized how much warmth Raphael's presence had brought to her life…and how much joy.

Surreptitiously, she glanced at Gabriel, who was still standing by the kitchen counter. The veil of her hair obscured most of her view of him and she did not dare look him in the face. For some reason, she couldn't get that fatal image out of her mind, the picture of him bursting through the diner door, stepping over her mother's prone and bleeding body. It had been the first time that Audrey had tasted her own mortality and the threat of death, so unyielding, was a shock to her young life. And Gabriel would forever be the monster, the symbol of some holy reckoning she couldn't comprehend and didn't want to. It was divine cruelty. It made her angry at God. It made her second-guess the order of the universe, which had been so wrongfully disrupted and turned on its head.

Gabriel shouldn't be there with her now, she decided. It was definitely wrong and more than a little unfair. Gabriel didn't have the right, like Raphael had, like Michael had, to thrust himself into her life. She begrudged his presence, which was cold and dark. She hated his persistence, which seemed at odds with his indifferent nature.

Audrey's lips puckered in annoyance and disappointment. She was reminded once again of her own helplessness, which was forced upon her again, an unwelcome burden. There was nothing she could do about Gabriel being there with her. Absolutely nothing at all.

_Deal with it_, Audrey told herself. _You're just gonna have to deal with it._

She grimaced, hating reality for all its sharp corners and blunt truths. She sat thoughtless for a moment, the incessant ticking noise providing a suitable tempo for her steady heartbeat. Audrey lifted her head and listened.

_A clock_, she decided. There must be a clock in one of the back bedrooms she hadn't been in yet. The sound was taunting and she didn't exactly like it. It made her feel like pacing.

Once again, she glanced at Gabriel, hating his apathy, the way his eyes kept turning to the window, looking outside, looking beyond…

_What if he misses her? _The thought came to her out of the blue. Audrey was stunned by it and her fingers curled together inside her pockets. It was hard for her to attribute a definite emotion to Gabriel. Audrey much preferred that he remain a blank slate, something she could project her fear and lingering venom onto. But the fact couldn't be ignored once it was acknowledged. Gabriel was a husband too. _Raphael's_ husband. He had smiled for her once. Kissed her. Told her that he loved her. Was that how their life had truly been? Audrey was curious, as she sat amidst the wreck and ruin of what had supposedly been a happy marriage.

"What happened here?" she asked the world.

Her tiny, squeak of a voice was enough to disturb Gabriel,. The lion stirred, turned his attention to the mouse. He seemed surprised that she had spoken at all and perhaps, just perhaps, a little bit pensive.

"Pardon?" he asked, his tone stiff. He had obviously intended to stew in his silence, in the sorrow that Audrey could not recognize, hidden in the stark planes of his face, lurking in his careful frown.

"Nothing," she said, and then repented of her stubbornness. "What I mean is…umm, do you think Raphael's coming back soon?"

Gabriel lifted an eyebrow, although his expression was more concerned than haughty. "Her absence troubles you," he stated.

"And you," Audrey added before she knew what she was saying.

Gabriel watched her for a full minute. His chest rose and fell beneath his cuirass. The clock in the back bedroom stopped its ticking and chimed the hour. It was noon. They both waited out the series of silver notes and when the silence returned, it seemed jaded, stale and worn-out.

"Yes," Gabriel said at length. "I do miss Raphael."

Audrey wasn't sure why, but his confession fulfilled her. It was a confirmation of something she had long suspected. Raphael loved Gabriel, that much had been clear to her from day one. But now she knew that Gabriel also loved Raphael. And if he was capable of love, Audrey thought she could possibly alter her opinion of him. He was still her monster, of course, but he was also Raphael's husband.

She tried to smile, the movement of her lips convulsive. "I never thought I'd say this," she muttered, "but we actually have something in common."

Gabriel nodded, his chin bumping against that ugly iron collar of his.

"Would it make you feel better if I told you that Raphael misses you too?" she asked.

Another nod.

Audrey took a deep breath, went with the flow, charged straight ahead into the unfathomable. "She was crying this morning because she missed you so much. I mean really crying."

This time, Gabriel shook his head, his eyes widening in what might have been muted alarm. "I do _not_ wish to make her weep," he said.

"No, no." Audrey slipped one of her hands out of her pocket and waved it empathetically. "I didn't mean you _made_ her cry, I just meant that she's, you know, upset. Because she wants to be with you. You have no idea what your marriage means to her-"

"I do," Gabriel interrupted.

Audrey stopped mid-sentence, worried that she had offended him. But the large angel only seemed earnest, not angry. Her heart skipped a beat, leaving her dizzy. Whew, this game was dangerous…or was she making it more difficult than it had to be?

_What if I can help them? _she asked herself. It wasn't so inconceivable and Audrey had courage. Running her hand over her thigh, she was reminded that miracles were always within reach. They lurked not on the edges of dreams, but in the very fabric of reality. And what happened, she wondered, when the miracle-worker needed a blessing, when the angels needed prayers and someone to hold their hands and pull them through the dark?

_Here I am_, she thought. _All I have to do is reach…_

Audrey looked at Gabriel. She pushed back her hair and faced him, forced herself to confront the visage that had long plagued her nightmares, but now only looked sad.

_I'm not forgiving him yet_, she told herself. _But that doesn't mean I can't help._

"Do you want Raphael to come home with you?" she asked.

Gabriel leaned back when she spoke, his wings grinding against the granite countertop. "She is occupied here," he said noncommittally.

"But that doesn't mean she wants to live apart from you," Audrey replied.

Her words had a strange effect on Gabriel. He studied his boots, his eyes half-closed. Audrey waited breathlessly. This was the part when he had to reach out to her. She promised herself she wouldn't care if he rebuffed her, if he refused the small help she had offered despite their rather fierce differences. It was a matter of pride, she realized. And desperation.

Audrey was stunned when she finally realized how desperate Gabriel seemed. If only Raphael could see this….

The angel began to turn and at first, she thought he was going to put his back to her. But he maneuvered himself carefully, angling his body so thought she could see his profile. "Tell me," he said, "you have been close to Raphael. Is she…" He paused and reflected. "I am not certain what it is I wish to ask."

"That's all right," Audrey said quickly. _Baby steps. Baby steps. _She knew she had to get a better handle of the situation. As it was, she understood very little about Raphael and Gabriel's marriage. Observing them was like peeking through a key hole. She caught glimpses of emotion, hints of strife and very real love, but the whole itself was invisible to her.

Uriel had told her a few things, but it wasn't enough. And marriages, she knew, often looked different to the people inside them. Gabriel had lived with his wife for countless centuries. There was a possibility that he understood their conflict better than anyone else…even if he didn't recognize it.

"Can I ask you something instead?" she said.

Gabriel lifted his head quickly. Caution narrowed his eyes. "Yes," he said, his voice heavy with suspicion.

Audrey regarded him carefully, unable to keep that twinge of sympathy from pinching her stomach. Looking at Gabriel, she was reminded of an incident from her childhood, when she had had her first lesson in fidelity and love and loss. Her mother used to keep orange trees in the backyard and every year, a pair of Mourning Doves would roost in the branches. As a child, Audrey had been fascinated by the whole process and she still had sweet memories of the mornings when she would wake up to the tender cooing of the nesting birds. But then there came that one afternoon, when the neighbor's new cat hopped the fence into their yard and pounced on the female while she was pecking about the grass by the swimming pool. Audrey didn't recall seeing a lot of blood, but there were feathers everywhere, in the drowsy hydrangea bushes, on the hot concrete pathway, drifting in the air like bruised snowflakes. The female lay by the pool, her neck broken, legs and wings akimbo, her beak split open. And the male, God, it was awful to see him pacing around his mate's corpse, the confusion clear in his black eyes, which looked like poppy seeds when the sunlight hit them right.

Audrey's heart thumped a little louder in her chest as she made the connection, saw the grieving dove in Gabriel, in the way he appeared and the way he moved and the way he seemed to be constantly seeking, searching for his mate. His distress touched her and for an instant, a brief, sliver of time, she managed to forget what it had felt like when they were both thrown from the car, the weight of his body crushing her spine, no pity in his eyes, no pity…

But he was pathetic now. A soul groping the dark. Audrey decided that she felt sorry for him and that pity was easier to work with than fear.

She leaned forward in the chair, determined now more than ever to peel back the bitter layers of this sad mystery. She wanted to understand Gabriel, as she had tried to understand Raphael. And she wanted to catch a glimpse of what their marriage was like, before the end that had destroyed them all.

"I guess it would be rather clichéd of me to ask what Heaven is like," she said.

Gabriel tilted his head to the side, acknowledging her observation. "You humans long for knowledge of the forbidden."

"Not really." Audrey sniffed once, the tip of her nose numb with the cold. "I wasn't going to ask you about Heaven, anyway. It's only incidental. I want to know, I mean, I'd rather know about Raphael and you-"

"Why?" Gabriel asked. His suspicion grew into a darkness that lay between them. But Audrey allowed him some space, let him be standoffish. She ignored his question and instead, went straight for the heart of the matter.

"So what's it like?" she asked. "Your life, I mean. Where do you guys live? Do you have a house or something up there in the clouds?"

Gabriel splayed his fingers over the countertop. He said nothing for a minute. "There is a dwelling for us in our Father's home," he replied at length. "Sometimes we stay there. Raphael, however, prefers the Garden. She enjoys sleeping under the sky, with the stars."

_That's actually kind of romantic_, Audrey admitted to herself. She was starting to feel wistful, lulled away into a daydream that was deceptively perfect. "And you go where she goes?" she asked.

Gabriel lowered his chin. "Of course."

"That's very considerate of you."

He shrugged.

"I don't know," Audrey replied, offering him a shrug of her own, "I guess I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions and tagged you for a bad husband."

Gabriel's nostrils dilated. His right wing, the one closest to Audrey, fluttered. "You shouldn't have," he said.

He seemed a little annoyed, but she did not let that daunt her. "Is it strange for you to be apart from her for so long?" Audrey asked. "I mean, you two are usually together, right?"

She was surprised when he stiffened, as though her question had inadvertently touched upon some tender subject. A muscle in his cheek twitched, bunching beneath the flesh until he looked like his was grimacing.

"We are parted," he said, "but only occasionally. Raphael does not accompany Michael and myself during the rare instances when our Father requires our intervention in human matters. She has gone on her own, though, as when she walked with Tobias in the guise of Azarias. But a physical separation does not try the soul. The union of spirits remains, it lingers across a distance, it suffices when sight fails."

"What about now?" Audrey questioned.

Gabriel said nothing.

_You're really raking him over the coals_, _you know_, reason cautioned her. To shake off the awkward interlude, Audrey adjusted her position in the chair, the hard wooden slats digging into her shoulders. The robe she was wearing didn't exactly provide much cushioning and she longed for the relative comfort of the couch in the living room. Audrey stared doubtfully at her skinny legs. Sensation didn't necessarily mean strength and she had had to lean rather heavily on Raphael when she left the bedroom that morning.

_I'll just have to be uncomfortable_, she told herself. Looking up at Gabriel, she realized that they were more or less in the same boat.

"Raphael said she wasn't used to humans," she commented.

Gabriel nodded, his bearing aloof.

"Then how come she's so good at healing people?" Audrey flicked a strand of hair out of her face, annoyed at the noticeable knots that had formed in her uncombed tresses. She threaded her fingers through and tried to pull out the tangles, wincing.

Gabriel pressed his palm to his temple. She wondered if she had given him a migraine, if it was even possible for angels to experience all the little aches and pains that humans dealt with on a daily basis.

"Are you curious?" he said, loosening his grip on his indifference just enough to let his frustration show. "Is that why you ask so many questions?"

Audrey decided to be vague. "Why not?" she responded. His frown irritated her and she wanted to tell him that he wasn't half as good a conversationalist as Uriel, who was probably lost somewhere in the snowy woods chopping down a tree.

Gabriel turned, finally facing her. He braced his arms on the counter behind him, his thick fingers curled over the lip. "Raphael was created by our Father to heal," he said, his tone grudging. "It is written in her soul."

"But how much healing can she get around to up in Heaven?" Audrey mused.

Gabriel tapped his thumb on the counter. "Raphael, like my brother Michael and myself, is a ruling archangel. She teaches the angels of lower rank how to heal and if they are wounded or suffer some sort of spiritual malaise, she heals them. She ministers to those angels who are guardians. She instructs them in compassion."

Unbidden, Audrey's mind conjured an image of Raphael as some kind of holy guidance counselor, someone who all the other angels went to with their problems. Maybe that was why she herself had felt comfortable in revealing the truth about the incident at the golf course lake. She shifted, sticking her hands underneath her thighs to keep her oversensitive skin from touching the whicker-bottom of her chair.

Gabriel was staring out the window at the snow and once more, she was reminded of that lonely dove, the broken look in the bird's eyes mirroring the angel's solemnity. For a moment, she almost wished that Raphael would come sweeping in through the front door of the cabin, snow in her hair, looking as she had the day before when she had learned that God was calling to her. Audrey imagined them coming together, husband and wife, sharing a kiss, creating the fairy-tale ending that was a lot rarer than she had ever dared to admit. It was a reality she had wanted for her parents, who had never been able to forgive each other for their petty arguments and grudges.

Audrey chewed on her lip. She hated finding infallibility in places of supposed strength, in people who were supposed to raise her up and not pull her down. It had taken her a long time to come to grips with just how imperfect her mom and dad were, and now she realized that angels, those light, airy beings that watched over sleeping children and sang amongst the stars at Christmas, were apparently just as flawed.

She tried not to be disappointed in them. She really, really tried.

"Raphael listens to those that pray to her," Gabriel said, his voice cutting through the haze of her bemusement like the driving wind outside.

Audrey perked up a little. She was surprised that he was still taking the time to answer her question. He could have given her nothing, but instead, he was relenting. At least that's how it seemed to her, through her naive eyes. Her hope was encouraged. It grew.

"She tries to intercede for those that ask for her aid," Gabriel continued.

Audrey thought that the key word there was _try_. Raphael's unflagging determination was easy to recognize, but it meant more than that to her. Raphael had tried to heal her, but she had failed. Audrey could admit that to herself now, even though it was painful. Raphael hadn't lived up to her expectations, but that didn't mean she was worthless. She looked down at her feet and wiggled one of her toes against the tile floor. There was no illusion in that. No lie. Maybe Michael was right. What did it matter if Raphael had been the one to heal her or not? The end results were the same, as was the intention. Raphael had _wanted_ to help her, hadn't she? Shouldn't that be enough?

Gabriel coughed suddenly and Audrey jumped. He was watching her again, his attention bringing an uncommon blush to her cheeks. Like a turtle, she tried to tuck her head and neck into the collar of her robe.

"You should know," Gabriel said, "that Raphael was the one who interceded for you. She asked me to speak on your behalf and I can deny her nothing. It was not my gift to give, but hers."

Audrey's mouth was dry. She ran her teeth over her lower lip, feeling just how chapped the flesh was. She didn't know why Gabriel felt he had to tell her this, unless…

"But you wanted her to be able to help me," she said, each word a weight in her mouth, ungainly, resting heavily on her parched tongue. "You did this for me, you asked for this favor, because you want _her_ to be happy here."

Gabriel moved his head to the side, showing her only his stark profile.

"That was pretty selfless," Audrey said.

He stared at the sink.

"Even though she isn't with you. Even though she's angry and you've both said terrible things to each other, you're still taking care of her."

The fingers on Gabriel's right hand twitched.

Audrey felt a sigh swell within her. "I think I was wrong," she admitted, "about a lot of things."

"That is true," Gabriel said at length, "for myself as well."

Audrey's jaw tightened, an ache settling between her eyes. She felt awfully sad then, seeing the wreck of their marriage, guessing at might have been and what now lay destroyed all around her. Unable to look at Gabriel, she glanced over her shoulder into the living room…and spotted the mason jar with the lilacs still sitting on the coffee table.

"You know, Raphael really loved the flowers you brought to her the other night," Audrey said. "She kept showing them to me. I think she was very proud of them."

Gabriel's frown was thoughtful, not discouraged. He continued to drum his fingers on the countertop. "Raphael always favored lilacs," he explained. "She used to wear them in her hair."

Audrey wasn't sure what she should say. This bit of unexpected tenderness from the hulking angel had startled her. She felt like she had a rock in her mouth when she tried to speak next. "My dad always used to send my mom flowers," she recalled. "They'd usually come in the afternoon, before he got home from work. We had so many vases in our house, I kept my pencils in them. But…but it's kinda nice to see flowers again. Especially now."

"She didn't seem to care for the flowers when I gave them to her," Gabriel said. "She let some of them fall from her hands."

Audrey couldn't help it. She gaped at him. It seemed utterly ridiculous that someone like Gabriel would even care what Raphael did with a bunch of flowers. She sat back in her chair, the soft fibers of the robe rubbing her neck and shoulder blades.

_It doesn't work,_ she told herself. _I don't see the monster anymore. There's too much in the way._

Like a child, she blinked her eyes, wondering if he would shape-shift in front of her, turn into an angel who resembled a smiling Uriel. The inconsistency in her perception of him truly bothered her. Audrey liked it when things were clear-cut. Black and white. The middle-ground was uncomfortable, and often confusing. She knew she wasn't brave enough to see Gabriel as something other than a monster, but her mind was already working, shredding the truths she had held so close to her, the reality she had learned to rely on.

Audrey was disappointed. Gabriel wasn't what she wanted him to be. Not even close.

"You're worried about your wife," she said blankly, disbelieving, doubting what her heart told her.

Gabriel too seemed to be having trouble in adjusting his demeanor. He flexed his wings, something Audrey had seen Raphael do whenever she appeared tired or worried.

"I may not have another chance," he said, "and I feel that I must ask you."

Audrey swallowed, the collar of the robe smooth against her throat. "Okay," she said. "Just go ahead."

"Raphael," Gabriel struggled with the name. His jaw was stiff, the muscles in his neck tensing as he tried to speak. "Do you think she is happy here?"

_He doesn't want the truth_, _even though he already knows it,_ Audrey thought. _But I can't lie._

She knew what she had to tell him.

"Your wife loves you," Audrey said, taking courage in the memory of her parents. She found her strength there, in those lost moments that her mind had tucked away, knowing she would need them one day. Her mom smiling over every bouquet of flowers. Her dad happy to have surprised her, even though the ritual was practiced. It was in those small pieces of time that Audrey found hope, because there had been happiness. And there was love now, amongst the ruins. She had caught a glimpse of it, like seeing the intricate pattern of a snowflake before it disappeared into the white, indistinguishable, but unique. It was that shining promise that truly healed her and she had seen it in the most surprising place. In the heart of a monster, who wasn't really a monster. In the sorrow of a Mourning Dove, who had lost what should have always been his.

Audrey closed her eyes.

"Your wife loves you," she repeated, her breath aching in her lungs. "She loves you so much. Even before I really knew her I could see it. She doesn't want this, she just wants you-"

"And a child," Gabriel said, his candidness catching her off-guard. "I cannot give her a child."

"Forget that," Audrey said with a toss of her head. "You're enough, I think. Gabriel, you're enough." She had stuttered over his name, disliked the soft rhythm of it on her tongue, but there were some trials that she could bear with joy.

Gabriel scrutinized her, his eyes too much of a hunter's, the hawk circling what might be its prey. Audrey was faintly uncomfortable for an instant, but then she relaxed. He wouldn't respect her at all if she was frightened, she knew. His ears were deaf to pleas, his heart immune to mercy, but there could be admiration there, whenever he sighted strength.

They were both breathless for a moment. Audrey waited, curious as to his reaction, but not nervous. It took the angel a while to say it. He himself seemed in need of courage.

"Thank you," he said, the words not reluctant, but gifted freely.

Audrey nodded.

And just like that, the foundation for peace was laid, its imprint faint in the virgin snow.

Audrey sat for a minute longer until she couldn't bear the hard planes of the chair digging into her still fragile body. "I think I'm going to head into the living room," she announced, having absolutely no idea how she was going to get there.

Gabriel, for his part, did not move to help her. Instead, he watched Audrey closely as she fought her way to her feet. The slight movement itself was torture, the rubbery sensations in her thighs nothing compared to the agony of unused muscles being forced to work again. Audrey gripped the table and raised her eyes, catching Gabriel's glance. She took a step, only one, her right foot dragging across the tiled floor an inch or so, the pain in her ankles building as she tried to support her weight. But it was a step, a singe step. Audrey threw back her head and laughed aloud.

She almost collapsed then, but Gabriel caught her. "The living room?" he asked, his voice tight in his throat.

Audrey laughed again. "Yeah," she said.

He did not make it easy for her, did not lift her and carry her. For that, Audrey was grateful, even as she leaned against him, her arms wrapped around his waist. She tried not to think about the last time she had touched him while he helped her from the kitchen. The car, the twisted metal of the wreck, she couldn't forget, but to forgive…

"It's all right," Audrey said, her cheek pressed to his flank. "It's all right."

Gabriel said nothing, although she was certain he understood her. Audrey's heart settled. She wondered, vaguely, if this was what peace felt like.

* * *

><p>Raphael cut through the undergrowth of the snowy forest with surprising tenacity, her movements no longer fluid, but retaining the determined slither of a provoked serpent. She wove her way through a thicket of birch trees, alert to the coldness of the air, which was all teeth, breathing down her neck like a wicked promise from a sinful lover. Her wings were heavy by her sides and she felt a pronounced stiffness each feather, the quills aching, tender by the root. It was only a half a mile from the gully to the cabin and she had chosen to walk it instead of fly. The fickleness of the wind was too sinister now, and she had hoped, she had wished to be alone.<p>

Michael, of course, was much too meddlesome to allow her that single dignity. He followed the long cast of her afternoon shadow, much as Gabriel used to do when they would stroll together in the Garden, looking for wild juniper. A brazen sun, poking its head through the still teeming snow clouds, colored his face an unlikely sallow, the hue of a candlewick burned low. Raphael avoided looking at him as much as she could, although it was almost impossible. She snuck glances at him. She hated him with her eyes.

When they were not far from the cabin, their progress somewhat hindered by the gracious sweep of the fir branches, he dared to speak to her. And what was more, he dared to touch her. Michael's hand found the joint between her shoulder and wing. It did not linger, but the feel of his flesh on hers was enough to put a sour, icy sickness in Raphael's stomach that rivaled the frigid air.

"I expected your anger," he said, his words forming distinct clouds before his face.

Raphael shook him off roughly. The motion was inelegant and her wings jerked with a fitful spasm. "I have absolutely nothing to say to you." She paused, then added for effect, "You are a villain."

"Fine," Michael replied.

She did not care for his agreement. It was much too masochistic for a soldier like him.

"The truth is terrible," he acknowledged.

"If you are to be believed," she threw back. The hem of her gown was soaked and her legs labored through the snow, an ache resounding in her tapered thigh muscles. A sudden thought occurred to her there in the fast falling twilight, the forest shrouded with half sun-shadows that dyed the snow a grey ash.

_Gabriel had always been gentle with her. Exquisitely gentle. And Michael?_

Her curiosity shamed her. Raphael's cheeks burned even as the hail stung her skin. She pushed herself onward, into the belly of the storm, the early evening opening its maw to greet her, teeth like stars, eyes of Heaven.

_Heaven._

How could she ever return to her most sacred home now? The cold had soaked through her wings and she was exhausted. She thought of collapsing by the warm fire in cabin's hearth, pleased, her heart stilled by the quiet comforts of earth, not the robust glories of Paradise. Could she ever walk in the Garden again without thinking of this? Would every plant and tree their Father had made echo with the question Michael had answered? Would she be able to look between him and her husband and see beyond that yawning valley of deceit, for the fault was theirs too, not only hers, but theirs.

Raphael suddenly stopped, doubling over. Her hands clawed at her abdomen, wherein her empty womb lay.

"My God," she prayed, "I am sick."

Michael was by her side in an instant, his concern too intense, inappropriate. He handled her with the utmost fragility.

"Raphael," he said gently. "Raphael."

It was a lover's voice that called to her and a moment of wild weakness, she might have turned to him. But Raphael had uncovered the well of her strength, hidden deep within her by her Maker for her to find when the need arose. And it was warm, a trickle of sincerity. It was built from the same resilience that had carried the child Audrey from the twisted wreck and nursed her and begged for her miracle at the very Throne of God.

Raphael touched her breastbone and knew that someday, not now, but someday, she would have to forgive Michael. It was what she owed him, the residue of her love. It was the one thing he deserved.

And yet, curiosity remained, the temptation of it slick, like oil in the back of her throat. She wondered and dreamed of horrors. She thought of that ugly little diner with the blood of brothers spilled. That had not been the start, she realized, but the end. It had started, of course, when she chose Gabriel.

"He knew," she said, doubting her husband for a moment. "Gabriel knew that I was meant to be your mate."

She heard Michael breathe beside her, his sigh tainted with the fear of what he had awoken in her. "Yes," he replied rather tepidly. "Gabriel knew."

"And that did not stop him."

"I tried to. Once." Michael's boots were heavy in the powdered snow. When he paced, the soles made soft, sucking sounds.

_Like a babe_, Raphael thought. _Nursing._

"It was when he was still bringing you his gifts," Michael said. "When he was so insistent, too insistent for me to mistake his intentions. I spoke with him, outside of Heaven. And Father, forgive me, I wished to strike him. There were warnings exchanged. Some threats. He told me that you should choose. That was the only fair way. No one should be forced, he said. Least of all Raphael. I was overly confident. Foolish, perhaps, to think that I could win you so easily. But I lost, you know that now. It was Gabriel's single victory over me. My only surrender. Does it hurt you to hear of this?"

Raphael was silent for a while, the woodland bereft around her, dropping tears of silver shadow, the sky bruised in the east. The cold got into her nose and stung her throat.

"Yes," she said, feeling the ice still inside her. "It wounds me."

She would say nothing else. The matter could not be exhausted, but she was weary, her bones taking on the dull sort of ache usually associated with age or long labor. Raphael felt old, the decades and centuries and millennia of her existence showing in her eyes like those same shadows of twilight. Soft, at first, barely noticed, falling steadily until the world turned dark.

She pivoted on her heel and walked towards the cabin. Michael followed.

When they were close to the backyard, with its petrified herb gardens and spring bulbs hiding in the warmth of the deep earth, they came upon Uriel. He had arranged a stack of fresh cut wood by the back step, near the door. The hatchet still dangled from his chapped and reddened hand.

"Ah, there you are," he chirped. "I thought I heard someone leave a while ago. Is this enough, Raphael? The light is failing. I can cut more tomorrow, but we should make it through the night with these." He gestured at the logs, pride in his glance.

Raphael did not reward his chore. She gave him her coldness instead, the calculated indifference he had known when he first came into being and was unwanted by them all.

"It is sufficient," she said, taking the path out of the backyard and around to the front of the house. She preferred to return from whence she came, making her exits also entrances. It provided a roundness to her nature, coming full circle. She never left her beginnings unfinished.

Michael joined her on the porch outside the front door and they stood there breathing for a few minutes. Somewhere out on the lake, Raphael heard the ice crack. She started and pressed her hand to her heart.

Michael looked at her warily. "What will you do?"

"Nothing," she said.

"Not here, you mean? Not in front of Audrey?"

"No," she said, the word pushed from her lips with a little puff of air. "Never."

Michael bowed his head, as if in prayer. Raphael couldn't tell if he was thankful or not. Maybe relieved.

She moved her hand towards the door knob, but froze when she heard a noise within. A sound like falling, then laughter. The incongruity of the commotion raised all the hairs on the back of her neck. With Michael, she peered in through the window, having a glimpse beyond the curtains.

It was the Audrey they saw, of course, being helped from the kitchen into the living room by Gabriel. She was leaning on the large angel, a sapling curled around the root of the Redwood and she moved with a noticeable hitch, every step torture, every movement a delight. A paradox of pain coupled with the reward of walking.

_Well, not quite walking, _Raphael observed, although Audrey's feet were moving. Barely. Just barely.

Michael came close to her and he breathed down her neck, not at all wicked, but still a hopeful lover.

"You know," he said, "you could still be something of a true mother…if only you would let her go."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>The reference to the Mourning Doves was inspired by a passage in Thomas Harris's "Hannibal" in which Clarice Starling observes a dove grieving the loss of its dead mate.

Thanks so much for reading! If you have a free moment, please leave me a review. I would just love to hear from you. In the next chapter, Audrey's recovery progresses despite Raphael's puzzling behavior. Meanwhile, a shocking occurrence threatens to test Audrey's faith in her guardian. I'm currently in the midst of a rather intense history seminar, so the next chapter might be delayed a day or two. Thanks in advance for your patience! Have a great weekend, everyone!


	19. Chapter Nineteen The Orphan

**Author's Note: **Whew! This chapter was almost impossible to write. I honestly hate transition chapters. They never, ever turn out the way I want them too. *sigh*

Anyway, I would just like to take this opportunity to thank all my faithful readers/reviewers, **saichick, DemonicSymphony, Jenny Joker **and . In addition, I would like to thank all the readers who have added this story to their favorites/author alerts list. You guys are the best! I do hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Nineteen The Orphan **

Life at the cabin had changed.

It started on the day when Audrey received her miracle, when she managed to dig inside herself and forgive Gabriel, when she finally recognized that her idea of angels was not ideal, but sufficient nonetheless. It was almost unnoticeable at first. Time had a way of misleading Audrey and she had learned to overlook the slow, languid passage of days in favor of her own concerns. She was distracted. She was selfish and she had learned to pay attention only to her needs, which at first seemed so significant. It took a while for Audrey to realize what was happening, but once the insinuation had worked its way into her subconscious, she was no longer blind. Audrey had a sense that she was losing something in the past. She couldn't go back to the familiar, which was always comfortable. The perfect rhythm of her daily life had been interrupted. And Audrey found herself mourning for what she couldn't understand, a fantasy she had built for herself and for Raphael that had suddenly shattered.

The world was different now. Sharp. Clear. She missed her dreams and the numbness. She missed what she had never had but wanted anyway.

From the start, she attributed the upheaval to her own recovery, which was turning out to be nothing short of miraculous. Raphael was a patient healer, but she hurried Audrey along, spent hours teaching her to stretch her muscles and regain her strength. Audrey, for her part, attacked each new challenge with determination, although she was sometimes daunted by the pain, which never failed to remind her that she could feel again.

Together, she and Raphael would sit on the living room floor, Audrey resting on her back while the angel lifted each of legs, telling her to resist the weight of her hand. Audrey tried not to let frustration eat away at her efforts, but it was difficult work and she tended to lose her cool.

"This is pointless," she told the angel on one particularly tiring morning, when she was grouchy and pale from lack of sleep.

Raphael, who was squatting by the coffee table, only frowned. Her eyes caught the light of the crackling fire. "You _will _do this," she insisted, raising Audrey's right leg and bending it at the knee.

Audrey groaned in pain. Her lips pursed in a pout. "Fuck this," she muttered under her breath.

Raphael heard her.

Without a word, the angel dropped her ankle, letting her leg slam against the floor and stalked off into the kitchen. Audrey lay on the braided rug for a good fifteen minutes. Her breathing was fast and quick, her skin sweaty. It took a little while for the guilt to creep up on her and when it did, she found herself trying to crawl into the kitchen.

Raphael was sitting at the table. She had learned to turn the kitchen chairs sidewise to accommodate the width of her wings and her pose seemed almost cavalier, casual. The hem of her gown spilled onto the tiled floor.

"What it is?" Audrey panted, annoyed by Raphael's amusement.

Her guardian bit back her smile, but her expression was puckish. "You must crawl," she said, "before you learn to walk."

After that, Audrey decided that she would much rather walk than crawl. Raphael seemed to agree and she encouraged her patient with a tenacity that was heartening. Although she didn't know much about physical therapy, Audrey realized that it could take months or even longer to get back up on her feet. Raphael, however, had her standing on her own in two weeks. And by the end of the month, Audrey had learned to take baby steps from her bedroom to the kitchen without any assistance.

It was another miracle, a gift she had been given from whoever it was that cared for her. Raphael, definitely. And maybe God…

Audrey never second-guessed her blessings, even though she did not trust the placid serenity of her life. Half the time, she was convinced that she was speeding towards some inevitable end, a fate that the world at large was trying to hide from her. And Audrey hated to be surprised. She lived on pins and needles. She wondered what it was that she was missing.

Although she was a bit quieter, Raphael gave no indication that things were changing. The angel was her constant companion, her mother hen who was only occasionally overbearing. Michael and Gabriel soon became regular visitors also. It was difficult to judge whether or not the angels were getting along, but Audrey sensed that the brothers did express a desire to reconcile. Michael was no longer meddling and brash, but resigned, a figure of solace and solitude with all the substance of a shadow.

Gabriel, on the other hand, was much more forward. He seemed to be openly courting Raphael again. He brought her small gifts, flowers and feathers and stones. He ran errands when she requested his help and walked in her wake like an eager penitent. It would have been cute, Audrey thought, if Gabriel didn't seem so desperately sad. And Raphael, she was eternally bewildered, rewarding her husband's efforts with a strange shyness that seemed so out of place in an archangel.

Withdrawn was the word for it. She had somehow pulled away, not only from Gabriel and Michael, but from Audrey as well. The shift was subtle, an alteration that Audrey had to scrutinize before she fully recognized it. Over the weeks, Audrey would catch the angel's eyes on her and the pressure of her gaze was a dark, nervous thing that set her on edge. She had been close to asking Raphael what was wrong, but at the last minute, doubt got the better of her.

Once or twice, Audrey had been tempted to ask Uriel what he thought, because his insight always seemed shrewd. The youngest angel was only an occasional visitor to the cabin, but Audrey looked forward to the mornings she would find him standing on the porch like an expectant puppy, scratching to be let inside the house.

For some reason, Raphael had designated Uriel as Audrey's baby-sitter. She left her charge with the angel whenever she went searching for supplies, clothes and food and other little knick-knacks that she found to keep her fickle patient entertained. Audrey herself never begrudged Uriel's presence. They spent many languid afternoons together at the cabin. She tried to teach him to play checkers, but failed miserably. And then one day, Uriel arrived bearing a thick branch of wood that was nearly as tall as Audrey. He dedicated the evening to the painstaking task of carving it into a crutch and then spent the following morning smoothing away all the splinters.

Audrey thought it was perhaps the second best gift she had ever received and she thanked him a million times, using her new crutch to walk confidently to the lake and back. Staring out at the snow banks on the opposite shore, the low waves churning the small ice floats, Audrey decided that life was good. Fragile, maybe, breakable, but good.

She didn't notice Raphael watching her walk from the porch. She did not see the few tears in the angel's eyes. And she did not know, until it was too late, what was about to happen.

That night while she sat at the kitchen table, picking at her dinner of canned soup and crackers, Raphael had tried to warn her. The angel was standing at her usual spot by the window, arranging the flowers Gabriel had brought her that morning in a vase on the sill. Her movements were fluid. The silken flutter of wings provided a sweet, delicate music that Audrey found comforting. The girl closed her eyes for a minute and listened.

"Audrey." Raphael's voice was close by, at her elbow.

Audrey jumped when she opened her eyes, surprised to see the angel so nearby. "Hey," she muttered, pretending to like her potato and leek soup, which had already gone cold and had a slimy film on top of it.

The light from the fire in the living room put strange shadows into the angel's face. She was frowning, one hand pressed to her throat and her fingers trembled a little. "I thought we could talk," she said, "about what you are going to do now."

Audrey did not have to pretend to be perplexed. She laid her spoon down and looked at her soup bowl. There were flowers on the rim. A pattern of birds and fauna. This had been someone's fine china once upon a time, when the world still cared about things like fine china and dinner parties and soft candlelight.

Audrey sighed, smelling the flowers. Summer had come to court winter in their tiny cabin. She felt warm and safe.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her tone a lazy drawl.

Raphael seated herself in the chair across from Audrey, one eye on the girl. A lock of hair had fallen over her forehead and she looked surprisingly small. The grey fabric of her dress had washed out the color in her skin and she squinted into the light, her eyes guarding secrets that were old, the miseries of the world. It was then that Audrey realized that Raphael was in mourning too. She was a creature of sorrows. Together, they shared an indistinct grief, a loss that had not yet revealed itself, but seemed ripe and full and fierce in the hopeless stretches of bare winter.

Raphael touched her stomach, her arms resting in her lap.

_Barren_, Audrey thought without meaning to. She stared at her soup bowl.

Raphael cleared her throat with a forced cough. "When I went searching for supplies yesterday, I found humans," she said, her tone taking on resonance that suggested the occurrence was remarkable. "From what I could tell, they seemed to be thriving. They had supplies, but I could not bear to take anything from them."

"That would be stealing," Audrey muttered. She chanced a glance at the angel.

Raphael nodded gravely. "Their encampment," she said with equal solemnity, "is not far from here."

A pause. The air in the kitchen was close, the scent of flowers suddenly rank, almost like a graveyard in spring. Audrey sat quite still, her skin alive with tiny pinpricks and a creeping, crawling sensation. She felt as though she had walked through a patch of thorny rosebushes or been stung by a whole hive of bees. Raphael's eyes were on her again. Audrey knew she was supposed to say something, but the words were too awful.

_Never_, she thought. _I will never let go of this._

She waited out the tension, let the moment slide away from them. Raphael seemed to hold her breath for a minute…and then withdrew. The archangel collapsed in on herself. She laid her hands on the table and bowed her head and looked like she was praying.

For an instant, a brief, meaningless instant, Audrey was frightened.

"Raphael?" she asked.

The angel didn't look up at her. "Eat," she mumbled, her voice strangely distant. "It's too much trouble to heat the soup again."

Audrey ate, each spoonful dropping into her gut with a revolting slipperiness. When she had finished, she took the bowl to the sink and flicked on the faucet.

"Don't worry," she said, leaning on the counter for support as she found the sponge resting in the drain. "I'll clean up."

Raphael didn't get up to help her. With her back turned, Audrey thought she heard her sob. Once.

Later that evening, she caught the angel in the living room flipping through her sketchpad. Standing in her bedroom doorway, Audrey watched as Raphael studied each of the drawings. She held the pictures up to the firelight, ran her fingers over the careful pencil strokes. It was an invasion of privacy, but Audrey didn't care. She stayed there in the doorway for a long time and tried to memorize the scene before her. It was important, in a way. Special.

When Audrey finally went to bed that night she dreamed of the dove chicks back in their nest in her backyard orange tree. Their mother was lying smashed on the pavement below and she did not come when they called to her. She never came again.

* * *

><p>Raphael sat curled up by the fire in the living room, her wings warmed by the undulating waves of heat coming from the flames. Between her spindly fingers she held one of Audrey's drawings, a very rough portrait of herself that seemed to emphasis the shadowy sweep of her wings and her narrow shoulders and small, weak hands. Raphael flipped the picture over and looked at the creamy, unmarked side of the paper. She turned it over again and sighed.<p>

The break had to been wrenching. It had to be sudden. It had to be…cruel.

_You could still be of a true mother to her, if only you would let her go…_

_But I never will be a mother_, Raphael told herself, _because a mother would never, ever do this._

She shifted, irked by the heat on her wings, which had begun to burn the sensitive flesh beneath her feathers. She hated the inevitable. She hated what was coming, which even her latent maternal instinct couldn't stop.

It was enough, as Michael often said. _Enough_.

Raphael knew, as she had known with Tobias and Tobit, as she had known in the countless centuries before, when she had been called upon to bestow God's blessings to favored children of men, that she had finished her work. The labor was complete. She had come full circle and so had Audrey. And that was enough, she knew. That was more than enough.

Angels were not humans. They never lingered, but came on the cusps of dreams. They were the echoes of the earth, not the earth itself. They hearkened to the music of the Heavens alone. And now the song had changed, the notes calling her to return, to cast off what she had wrought in this world and remove herself to Paradise where He awaited.

And Gabriel, he was waiting too.

It was not a summons, not a command, but Raphael knew she didn't have a choice. Her heart was urging her home, away from Audrey and the separation, the break would have to be wrenching. Abrupt. It would have to be cruel.

Raphael sighed. She hated herself in that moment. She hated what she was and what she had tried to become.

_You are not a mother. You will never be a mother._

She folded the drawing neatly down the middle of the paper and tucked it inside her gown. And then she sat there waiting, counting her breaths, counting Audrey's, until she was certain that the girl had drifted off to sleep in her room, The angel waited a few minutes more, listening to the beguiling serenity of the girl's dreams and then she left. She just left.

The night greeted her with a strange perfume when she stepped out onto the porch, her sandals crunching over a layer of ice and snow. Winter had stripped the forest of its most delectable scents. And yet, notes of jasmine reached her, the smell rich and vibrant, a hint of summer and immortality twined into one. Raphael was bewitched. She leaned against the porch railings and looked up at the pregnant moon. The breeze that touched her cheeks was warm. _Eden._

Glancing out over the front yard, she saw him standing there, one hand outstretched in greeting. His welcome was fervent. It was a well-spring of emotion that he had suppressed and battled until this moment, when they stood a few paces apart with only the wild, earthy night between them.

It was as if, Raphael mused, his love was new.

She touched the smooth flesh above her heart, blood rushing into her fingertips. Gabriel smiled at her and held out his arms.

Raphael went to him.

"At last," he said, his nose buried in her hair, which she knew smelled not of the Garden, but of the sparseness of winter. Cold stone and bitter air.

"You have made the right choice," her husband told her, planting a single kiss on her brow. "I am pleased."

Raphael said nothing.

"So long," Gabriel continued, his voice suddenly husky, the sound it vibrating against his metal cuirass like a silver bell. "It's been so long…I have wanted you with me. I have wanted you to come home."

Raphael said nothing.

"We will go together," he muttered. From inside the folds of his tunic, he plucked a sprig of jasmine and tucked it in her hair, just behind her ear. "We will return tonight in peace though we parted in anger."

And still, Raphael said nothing.

Gabriel took her hand in his, the calluses on his palm grazing her knuckles. The light of the moon had fallen into his eyes and she could not deny his smile, which reached across his heart to hers.

"It is finally over," he said. She wondered if she heard any tears amongst his words, or if she was only deceived by the gentle suspirations of the restless wind.

How could she ever tell him that she did not share in his happiness? How could she ever let him know that she did not want to return?

Raphael realized that she was squeezing his hand, which Gabriel took as a sign of her eagerness. He unfurled his wings, his majesty undimmed, the light of the stars and the moon so eager to embrace them although Raphael's feet were still weighted with the sorrows of earth.

"Home," Gabriel said. He pulled them both up into the night sky, as Michael had done so many years ago when he had first tried to teach her to fly. Raphael felt the world leave her, the sprig of white jasmine falling from her hair to the ground. But before the earth disappeared and before they crossed the border, leaving behind what was man's in favor of Heaven, she glanced once over her shoulder. The light from the cabin was small. It stood out in the ashy dark.

"Audrey," Raphael said once.

Her husband looked over at her as they spiraled through thin clouds and above the low banks of early evening mist. She wasn't certain, but she thought he might have heard.

* * *

><p>Audrey knew, the second she woke up that morning, that something was wrong. She didn't acknowledge it at first, kept the fear tucked within her like a guilty secret. Sitting up in bed, her arms braced on either side of her thighs, she noted the quiet of the house. Usually, it was the whistling tea kettle that roused her in the mornings. A cup of warm Earl Grey was her ritual now and Raphael adhered to it with faithful rigidness. For an instant, Audrey wondered if the angel had forgotten, or if they were out of tea. Either way, she wasn't sure she wanted to find out.<p>

For a few minutes she waited in bed. She looked out the window at the grey clouds, studied the patches of snow that still lay on the ground, the white dusted with green pine needles. Raphael's tread, although light, could not be heard in the hallway outside. The angel was not nearby, at least. Maybe she was outside in the garden? There had been a few recent afternoons when Audrey had unintentionally caught Raphael standing in the backyard with Gabriel. For some reason, she was always embarrassed when she saw them there together, like she had accidentally walked in on a couple having sex. What they were doing, of course, was the farthest thing from sex Audrey could imagine, but their conversation had a certain intimacy to it that excluded her. If that was the case now, she was inclined to let them be.

Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, she reached for her crutch. Mornings were the hardest still, her muscles at their most unyielding. The sinews behind her knees ached and her thighs were sore, as if she had just spent the last hour jogging. Audrey limped once around the bedroom, snatching a pair of jeans Raphael had found for her off the chair by the door. She pulled the pants on right over her pajamas, a habit she had adopted less out of fashion sense and more from her very real desire to keep warm in the chilly cabin. As she pushed her cold feet into a pair of thick, knitted socks, she knew she should take some time to stretch. Raphael usually insisted that she do her exercises at least four times a day and although Audrey bitched about doing them first thing in the morning, she knew the angel was right.

Hobbling out of the bedroom, she looked up and down the narrow hall of the cabin. Raphael wasn't anywhere in sight and the door to the backyard had been locked. Audrey leaned against the wall and tried to ignore the niggling feeling of worry that rolled around in her stomach. She didn't want to admit to herself that she felt anxious. Audrey had never been a worrier. She had never lain awake at night and fretted over her parents' marriage or her grades or the fact that she still didn't have her learner's permit because her mom was afraid she'd wreck the car. This fear was new to her, uncommon and she disliked the feel of it, the vague, obscure terror that was hard to pin down, but floated around her mind like a wasted dream.

Of course, there was very a simple solution to all this. If she opened her big mouth and called, Raphael would certainly come running. But what if she didn't? Audrey rested heavily on her crutch, the smooth, wooden handle forcing her shoulder up at an awkward angle. There was some comfort to be found in ignorance. If she didn't know where Raphael was, then the angel could still be around somewhere.

"She's out fishing by the lake," Audrey told herself as she limped towards the bathroom. "Or she's gone to look for supplies."

_Without telling me?  
><em>

A sick headache throbbed at her temples. Audrey ignored the pain. She used the bathroom and brushed her teeth, ran a comb through her hair and washed her face. Looking in the mirror, she wished she had at least a little lip gloss or mascara, although it seemed vain to actually ask Raphael to find make-up for her. Audrey knew she shouldn't care about her appearance. She was wearing lumpy jeans that didn't fit right and a bulky sweater, which didn't really matter, considering it was only Raphael, Michael and Gabriel hanging around most of the time. And Uriel, he showed up too…

Audrey grimaced, her teeth pulling at her chapped lower lip. Maybe she could ask Raphael to find her some lip balm. That wasn't too outrageous, was it? After all, the cold had left her skin very dry.

The bathroom was especially frigid, the tiled floor and walls holding in the damp chill. Audrey was glad for her warm socks as she padded down the hall and into the kitchen. The kettle wasn't on the stove, but sat gleaming on the counter. Her mug hadn't been laid out and she knew she wouldn't able to reach to the teabags on the high shelf in the cabinet. So much for breakfast. She left the kitchen, vaguely disappointed.

Raphael wasn't in the living room, either. Audrey stopped by the coffee table and looked down at her sketchpad and pencils. She remembered Raphael's odd behavior the night before, how she had flipped through the drawings when she thought Audrey wasn't looking.

Leaning forward, trying to balance on her crutch, she opened her pad and leafed through the pictures. They were all still there for the most part…except for one she had sketched of Raphael. That was strange a little strange, wasn't it?

Audrey's stomach began to hurt. She rounded the coffee table and peeked out the wide window over the couch. There was no one on the porch or by the lake. There was no one standing in the front yard. The shaggy branches of the evergreens were still, the wind only a low hum that left the air sharp and biting. Ice floats bobbed on the surface of the lake, their tips like ivory spears and Audrey tried to imagine what it would be like plunge into the cold water. Would her legs go numb again?

She sank onto the couch. The ache in her stomach persisted, touched with nausea now. Her sketchpad lay close by, the drawing of Raphael missing. _Missing…_

_God_, Audrey found herself praying. _Please, please God.  
><em>

* * *

><p>The waiting was perhaps the worst part. Audrey sat on the couch for a good hour, listening to the measured ticking of the clock in the back bedroom. She twisted her hands into knots and chewed on her lip and twirled a strand of her hair until it was tangled. Once, she thought about starting a fire. The house was freezing and Raphael had left ample firewood in the bin by the hearth. The ashes from the night before had been banked and meticulously swept to the side. Audrey smiled a little as she thought of how mindful the angel was. Attention to detail was definitely one of Raphael's strengths, so why had she skipped out on her now without even leaving a note?<p>

Her anxious frown deepened and to relieve her jitteriness, Audrey tapped her crutch against the coffee table to the tune of _Yankee Doodle_.

"All right," she said, her meek voice puncturing the dark silence like an echo in a deep cistern. "All right, come on, where the _hell_ are you?"

She waited another fifteen minutes, vowing she'd make herself go look for Raphael if the angel didn't show up by noon. Audrey didn't have a warm coat, but she figured she could wrap one of the blankets around her like a cloak as she usually did when she went outside. But what if it was something dangerous that had driven Raphael away? Could that threat still be lurking nearby, fanged and sinister, just waiting for her to step outside?

Audrey glanced down at her still skinny legs. Although she had made remarkable progress this last month, she doubted that she could run very fast.

She wasn't just going to sit there, though, waiting for Raphael to show up, if she ever did….God, why was she was crying? Audrey angrily wiped the tears from her cheeks. She was a little girl again. She felt like she had when she was six and her mother dropped her off at her cousin's house for her first sleep over. Audrey would never forget what it had felt like to watch the taillights of her mom's car disappear into the dark as she drove away. Without meaning too, she started to sob, hating sentiment, hating her mother, who had abandoned her permanently this time. Mom. _Mommy…_

"I shouldn't miss you," she told herself. "I shouldn't even…"

"Why not?"

The familiarity of the voice was like a warm blanket, a petty comfort in an ambivalent world. Audrey's relief was so wild it made her dizzy. Tucking her crutch under her arm, she pushed herself to her feet and turned around. Uriel stood in the doorway, his face nearly hidden by the screen.

"Can I come in?" he asked timidly.

"Crap," Audrey muttered. She scrubbed her cheeks with her palms and sniffed, embarrassed to found mewling and whining like a pouty three-year-old. "Yeah, are you kidding?" she asked. "Come in, come in. Uriel, I am _so _glad to see you. Where is Raphael? Is she okay?"

"Yes," Uriel replied. He shut the door behind him.

Audrey didn't know why, but his brevity bothered her. She rolled her shoulders, her movements restricted by the weight of her thick sweater. Her lips tasted like salt and she wished she had a tissue. Instinctively, she moved towards the kitchen, intending to snatch up one of the dish towels.

Uriel followed her.

"You've been weeping," he said, the warmth in his voice replaced with a note of aching concern.

Audrey's embarrassment doubled. She hated to think that he felt sorry for her.

"I was imagining things," she said by way of explanation. She plucked one of the towels off the kitchen counter and dabbed at her nose. "I kept thinking that something bad happened to Raphael. It's not like her to just up and leave. Did she get called away? Is she coming back soon?"

"No."

Audrey dropped the towel. Slowly, very slowly, she turned around to face Uriel. "What do you-?"

"Audrey, we must talk." Uriel had his hand resting on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, his hips tilted.

She was troubled when she realized he wouldn't look at her, his gaze focused on an indeterminate spot on the floor between them. Her stomach did a somersault. She was aware of the weakness in her legs, that watery, rubbery feeling that usually meant she was coming down with the flu or had had a little too much to drink.

"Oh God," she muttered

Uriel flinched.

Audrey leaned against the table, the lip of it jutting against her hip bone. She felt a new soreness throughout her body, a pain that radiated from her core and stole her breath away. It took all of her bravery to acknowledge her fear, the insinuation of change and dissent that brewed in the back of her subconscious. Audrey trembled. Panic overtook her mild anxiety and pushed it to the limit, to the very point where her resolve shriveled and she became a scared little girl again, an orphaned child.

Her lips felt remarkably dry when she tried to speak, her tongue thick and useless. Audrey choked, her head spinning.

Uriel flinched, again.

"Where is Raphael?" she demanded. "Just tell me, Uriel. Don't bullshit me, okay?"

Uriel drummed his fingers on the back of the chair. The rhythm reminded her of a steady heartbeat, a thrum-thrum-thrum sound that she tried to focus on.

"Raphael," Uriel said, his pink tongue flicking out over his lips when he spoke, "has gone home."

Her consciousness ceded to a moment of blank terror. Audrey battled against it, pushed her way upstream.

"Did God call her?" she asked

"No."

"Did she have to go?"

"Yes," he paused, "and no."

A fierce groan escaped Audrey, its vehemence surprising even her. Uriel's eyes widened and he glanced at her, his usual diffidence replaced by quiet, respectful awe.

Audrey's cheeks were hot with tears. Somehow, she managed to mumble through them. "Enough with the doubletalk," she said. "I really can't stand it. Uriel, I don't need you to sugarcoat anything for me. Please, _please_."

He turned his head to the side. "I want you to understand."

"I will."

"No, I am afraid you won't."

"Try me," Audrey said. She was having a little trouble balancing on her crutch. Shifting her weight, she leaned on the table, one arm braced on the edge. She could feel her heart beating through her fingertips, her pulse maddened, turning the world before her eyes until the butter yellow walls of the kitchen seemed distant and Uriel was just a speck on the horizon, a tiny figurine that wasn't real, only an image of what she wanted him to be.

Audrey's shoulder sagged under the bulkiness of her sweater. She wished the angel would put his arms around her. For some reason, she wanted to be touched.

Uriel sighed and glanced over the crook of his wing into the living room. Audrey knew avoidance when she saw it. In some strange way, she realized, he was suffering right along with her.

She didn't know whether she should take comfort in that or not.

"You should sit down," he said. "I can see you trembling where you stand."

"No," Audrey said shortly. She wasn't sure where her sudden defiance came from.

Uriel did not argue with her. "Raphael asked me to talk to you," he said. As he spoke, she noticed the pleasant flush was gone from his cheeks. Uriel looked sick and he looked tired, wreathed in a sorrow that she was only just beginning to feel.

"Lucky you," Audrey replied, hating her black humor.

Uriel chewed on the inside of his cheek, his chin dimpling. "Angels," he said simply, "are not humans, Audrey."

"That's a given."

"Our motives vary, as do our purposes."

"I don't follow," she admitted. As the words left her mouth, she found her eyes gliding over to the empty tea kettle sitting on the counter. It seemed less and less likely that Raphael was going to sweep into the cabin at any minute and offer to make her breakfast. Audrey winced, mourning the loss. She felt like a tree in autumn, watching her life slip away leaf by leaf. "Are you telling me," she said in a weak vibrato, "that Raphael just decided to leave?"

Uriel's face softened. His youth was a fluid thing, a disguise Audrey found she couldn't trust. Right now, the angel looked old.

"It wasn't a rash decision," he said. "Raphael knew it was time. She healed you. She did what she was made to do. Her purpose here has been exhausted and-"

"Yeah _fucking _right!"

"And she could stay no longer," Uriel continued smoothly, though not without effort. "Angels are not humans," he repeated. "We are not static. We do what it is we were meant to do and then we withdraw until we are needed again. We do not linger and grow stale with the trappings of this earth. We do not remain. There is no union, only an eventual separation. Raphael has finished her task. She has helped you. And now you must heal on your own. That is her gift. That is how you should think of her and remember her always."

The air left her lungs in a single exhalation. There was a sharp pain in the space between her eyes and then a feverish whirling, a dizziness that claimed her body until she wasn't sure if she was still standing or if she had fallen to the floor in a faint. Audrey closed her eyes. Raphael was gone from her life. Gone. The night had come and the night had taken her. The sun had risen without her. The absence was deep, penetrating. In her rising panic, Audrey tried to remember absolutely everything she could about the angel. Her smile. The way she moved her wings when she was agitated. The way she lowered her eyelids just a little whenever she looked at Gabriel. Her hands wrapped around the tea tray, those smooth knuckles, her fingers fine and tapered like knitting needles. She smelled a little like ginger and grass. And she laughed, she laughed…what had her laugh sounded like?

"Oh," Audrey whimpered. Her neck was hot beneath her collar. She could feel the blood racing through her jugular, her lifeblood, the echo of her body as it moved and lived and breathed without Raphael. She was cold and she was naked. She was the cry that went unanswered in the night.

Audrey felt as though the light had left her. She had caught a glimpse of something glorious and now she was blind. She couldn't see. She couldn't hear. The world around her was wretched in its regularity and she missed those perfumed blessings, those holy hosannas that rang within her when the angels were nearby.

Blessings were indeterminate. They didn't last. They were flowers in an Indian summer, growing beneath a benign sun only to be cursed when the winter wind returned. Audrey was blighted. Cut down. And she died a little as she stood there in the kitchen. Her soul died.

Audrey blinked once and her vision was restored. Her arm was still braced against the table, though her elbow shook. Uriel watched her closely. She could see him through her tears.

"I can't believe this," she said. "I can't believe this. I _can't_ believe this."

"I trust your faith," Uriel replied. "It is fear that drives you to distraction now. Come, let us sit in the living room."

Audrey shook her head, her fine hair whipping across her cheeks. "So that's it?" she asked, wondering if Raphael could possibly hear her all the way up in Heaven and if she'd dare to answer her. "It's over now? Raphael's had her fun, she's gotten bored of me and now she wants to just move on."

"Your offense is a misconception," Uriel soothed. "I assure you, Raphael has not tired of your presence, but she knows that _you_ will soon tire of her, even if you do not recognize it. She understands that your life was not meant to be lived this way. It is _you_ who must move on, Audrey. And please know, Raphael was not pleased to leave you. I think it very nearly broke her heart."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," Audrey muttered, her sarcasm sharp, a shard of wit meant to cover her own agony. But then she repented. "Can I see her?" she asked. "Just one more time, can I talk to her?" She paused and waited for his response, hanging on the edge of a precipice.

Uriel couldn't look at her. "No," he said.

Audrey fell. She gripped the table, desperate to hold onto the world around her. She thought many wild, senseless things in that moment, whispers of madness, the surge of fear and anger that tempted her to lunacy. She considered running outside and screaming. She considered jumping into that lake until her legs went numb and Raphael had to come back and heal her again. She considered losing herself to this grief, which was more profound than any she had ever known.

_I'm alone. God, oh God, I'm alone…_

"She knew this was going to happen all along," Audrey said. Her tone was breathless, a painful gasp wrenched from her laboring lungs.

Uriel hovered nearby. The tips of his wings struck the tiled floor. "It was the inevitable," he conceded.

"For the moment she picked me up off the road…"

"I was with her that night. She wanted to save you…"

"She knew she was going to leave me." Audrey lifted her hand off the table, her fingers digging into her neck. "No compassion. Where was her compassion?"

Uriel didn't answer, but Audrey thought she knew already. There was no compassion. No mercy. Raphael had fooled her into believing a fantasy. In reality, she was no better than anyone, no better than Gabriel, who had come bursting through the diner door, deaf to the helpless cries of an innocent child and his frightened mother. Such cruelty was indiscriminate. It was natural. It was…angelic.

Audrey's hand curled into a fist. "Raphael chose him over me," she said. "She wanted to go back to Gabriel."

Uriel dropped his head until his chin almost hit his chest. "No," he said. "And yes."

She took a deep, rattling breath. She pulled together the fragments of her being into one shaking whole. "So I guess it doesn't matter what I want?" Audrey muttered. "It doesn't matter if I say I need her to come back. We're done here, aren't we?"

"Put plainly, yes."

Uriel's voice was soft, but she felt as though she had been struck. Audrey never thought something like this could hurt so much. The wound wasn't physical, but it had cut her, quick and deep. There was no denying Raphael's rejection and the abandonment destroyed her tenuous trust. Audrey wanted to scream. She wanted to pound her fists against Uriel's chest and curse him for being the messenger. But most of all, she wanted to cry. She wanted to sink down into herself, into the concealing darkness of her despair and cry.

Audrey touched her cheeks. They were dry now. Smooth. Her vision was clear, untainted by any meaningless tears. Audrey dropped her hand to heart and tested her fingers against the flesh. The emptiness within horrified her.

_Raphael, I hate you._

She only thought it now, didn't dare to say it with Uriel standing so close by, his expression torn between some secret anxiety and his overwhelming pity for her. But Audrey scorned his pity. She despised the way he looked at her, as though she were a kicked dog, an abused, helpless animal. She returned his gaze with fire, showed him the wickedness of humanity that so offended God and His angels.

"So," she said, raising her shoulders in an artless shrug, her crutch shifting against her ribs with the slight movement, "what happens now?"

Her resigned misery seemed to resound within Uriel. He raised his hand as if to touch her, but then withdrew, a few narrow lines appearing between his brows. "The choice is yours," he explained. "You can either stay here alone or I can take you to your kind. There is a human settlement about twenty miles from here. A refugee camp. They have food, shelter. You would be safer, I think. But the choice is yours, Audrey. Don't let anger color your decision. Take your time. Think."

_Anger_. It was all she had, the last thing that was truly hers that she could hold onto. Audrey crossed her arm over her middle, grabbing her crutch. Huh, no wonder why Raphael had mentioned the refugee outposts the night before. She had wanted to prepare her little fledgling for the moment she took her suicidal leap from the nest.

Audrey looked around the interior of the cabin, the homey kitchen with its collection of eclectic jars above the cabinets, the flame-scarred hearth, the narrow hallway with its pastoral prints hanging on the walls. She grimaced, realizing that she had let this place become hers, a little haven that she had happily carved out for herself in an uncertain world. But what had made the cabin her home was gone now. Raphael had returned to the clouds, to Eden, to her husband. She had left Audrey behind on this austere earth, with only solitude as her guide.

And as brave as she was, she did fear being alone.

It didn't take Audrey long to decide. Straightening as best so could, she pushed her way passed Uriel into the living room, her skin prickling as she brushed by the angel, his warmth reaching even her cold heart. But she was resigned. She was firm. She had met the crossroads and survived. Looking ahead, what Audrey saw was dubious, the promise of a hard, lonely life. But that's what humanity was for, wasn't it? Her share of suffering had been doled out. Her place in the line of the weary and the broken had been set aside. Audrey was human again, no child of an angel. Raphael had returned her to what she was.

Moving down the hallway towards her bedroom, Audrey could hear Uriel's footsteps behind her. She stiffened, but did not look back. His pity, she knew, was no longer for her.

"I'm going to pack my stuff," she told him, enjoying the new hardness in her voice. "I'll be ready in five minutes."

* * *

><p>Uriel set her down roughly half a mile from the camp, which from above, looked more like a small town to Audrey. Although it had been hard to see through the heavy, low-lying clouds, she had managed to spot a few rough buildings along with a number of sheds and tents. There were even a couple of old R.V.s around the edge of the encampment, which made her think that she had come to some kind of wilderness retreat rather than a refuge for desperate people. But the landscape was like an ashen watercolor, all grey tones and soot, smudges of dust. The air stunk of wet soil and smoke. Audrey's hopes weren't necessarily high when she thought about what she was leaving behind, that warm, safe sort of comfort that had lulled into thoughtlessness and false tranquility. But now, life was going to be hard. And now, she would have to struggle to survive.<p>

Uriel, who had already proved himself to be the most considerate of the angels, stayed with her for a few minutes on the edge of the camp. Together they stood on the side of muddy, rut-filled road, Audrey studying the trenches of brackish water that were still thick with sludge and slush. She had a knapsack balanced over her free shoulder, her crutch tucked underneath her other arm, one of the flannel blankets from the cabin wrapped around her shaking body. Wisely, she had layered what clothes she had, leaving room in her knapsack for a few toiletries and other essentials she thought she might need here out in the wilderness. And even though it took up too much space, she had been unable to part with her sketchpad and pencils. After much debate, she had tucked her art supplies into the bottom of her knapsack, resolving to not to look at the sketches of Raphael until she had completely forgotten what the angel looked like.

But despite her efforts at preparedness, Audrey knew she was ill-equipped for any rough living. She had remembered to bring a couple of bottles of water with her, but no food and she didn't have any money or valuables to barter with.

Her fear birthed fresh rage and Audrey clung to her fury, which disguised her hurt well enough. She looked up at Uriel's pleasant face with hungry, haunted eyes and allowed him to see her tears.

"Raphael didn't get me ready for this," she said.

Uriel's lips dipped in a frown. He touched a single finger to cheek.

Audrey shivered.

"She could not tell a human how to live," he replied. "That was not her task."

"So she's just going to leave me here to die?"

"The fate of mankind is not ours to control. We are only shepherds. We guard and we watch, but only rarely are we given the grace to intervene."

"Some shitty shepherds you are," Audrey spat. But Uriel's quiet sorrow silenced her. Standing there with him, Audrey thought of what it had felt like to have him carry her above the clouds, granting her the singular gift of flight, the one blessing denied man, but given to angels. With her eyes, she followed the elegant curves of his wings, the gloss of his lethal feathers and realized then, with a sudden jolt, exactly what she was losing.

The mysteries of the Heavens would be closed to her. Earth's, in all its primitive plainness, had pulled her away from the sky. She would never be granted such a gift again and now, Audrey felt as though she had squandered what Raphael had brought to her, a space in time that was beautiful, a moment that she had wanted to last, but had been taken away.

Audrey dropped her knapsack and her crutch and began to weep. She covered her face with her chapped hands and let the tears bleed onto her skin. Raw air filled her lungs, the musty stench of the earth and she gasped, floundering against the tide, drowning. But this time her legs were weak and she could not kick herself back to the surface. Audrey felt herself go under, knowing, understanding, that she would never come back up.

Uriel reached for her. He put his arms around her shoulders in a tentative embrace. Audrey leaned against him, her cheek pressed to the cold, unforgiving metal of his cuirass. Time was slipping through her fingers like smoke. She knew she only had minutes left, the precious seconds she would have to cherish in years to come, when faith alone would not sustain her. Audrey blinked, her tears dewy pearls that trailed down Uriel's tunic. She wrapped her arms around his middle and hugged him as close as she could, feeling his hip bones in the tender flesh of her abdomen. She didn't want to beg, she couldn't beg, she wouldn't…

"Please," Audrey whispered, "please don't go."

Uriel tilted his head forward, the iron rim of his collar resting atop her hair. He spoke directly into her ear in a voice that belonged to the ages, that was the echo of dreams and the song of the prophets, a voice that called to mankind and would continue to call, again and again and again.

"Do not be frightened," he said. And strangely enough, his words were a balm. They soothed her throbbing soul and put right her heart. In a wild rush, Audrey felt herself break through the surface once more and she tasted the burning air, crisp and clean. She tasted the life that had been given back to her, even though she hadn't wanted it in the first place.

Pushing herself up on her tip-toes, her calves and tendons aching, Audrey planted a feather-light kiss on Uriel's cheek. She knew she couldn't say goodbye and she didn't want to.

His arms fell away from her shoulders and he took a step back. Audrey let him go, her fingers grazing her jaw where she had pressed her face to his cuirass and listened to the dull beat of what might have been his pounding heart.

Uriel nodded once, his eyes seeming to offer an apology and then he took flight. He rose into the air with one great swoop of his wings and the clouds parted for him. Audrey felt a sprinkling of mist on her cheeks. She looked up. She saw his shadow cross the sun and then disappear. The clouds folded back into place, the sky an uneven mix of tepid grey and watery blue. A few lazy snowflakes drifted down from the heavens and landed on her forehead like a returned kiss.

But the sky was unreachable. Audrey looked down at her oversized boots, a pair she had found in one of the cabin closets, now spattered with mud and icy slush. She began to gather her things. Throwing her knapsack over her shoulder, she adjusted the crutch underneath her arm and turned towards the camp, where smoke curled above the trees, polluting the hazy sky. For somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard a man shouting.

This was her life now.

"I hate you for this," Audrey said, wondering if Raphael could hear her or if she was indeed listening. "That's what I'll remember. I _hate _you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Yes, Raphael's leave-taking was sudden, but it was meant to surprise everyone, especially Audrey. Poor kid. I have to admit, she has grown on me as a character. I do feel quite bad for her.

In the next chapter, Raphael and Gabriel finally reconcile, through much trial and error. Michael approaches Raphael with a peace offering. Chapter twenty is in the works and should be posted in roughly two weeks. Thanks so much for reading! Take care and be well, everyone!


	20. Chapter Twenty Reconciliation

**Author's Note: **Ah, finally! After twenty chapters Raphael and Gabriel are on the road to reconciliation. It took them long enough, didn't it? I suppose they really shouldn't complain about Michael being stubborn, they're just as bad. ;)

Before we begin, I would just like to briefly thank all my readers and reviewers, **saichick**, **x x IChangeMyNameAllTheTime456 x ****x, Jenny Joker **and **Yas**. Also, if you've added this story to your favorites/author alerts list, thank you as well! I do hope you enjoy this installment.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Twenty Reconciliation **

They lay together in the Garden, in the shaded hollow on the lee side of a slope, where the air smelled of rain and sometimes, when the wind blew, of lilacs. Raphael rested on her side, threading her fingers through the sleek blades of grass. Gabriel reclined next to her and he stretched his arm over her waist, pulling her snug against him in a position that was only slightly uncomfortable. His closeness was thoughtful and endearing, but Raphael was agitated. She watched the insects humming over the nearby pool. She listened to the hissing spray of the waterfall as it fell over the rocky slope. She thought of lost things, of snow and wind and ice and children who cried in the dark with no one to answer them. Raphael stirred. She could not settle.

Gabriel's lips found her neck, lingering along the length of her jaw. "Do you dream?" he asked.

Raphael plucked a blade of grass and held it between her fingers, particles of soil still clinging to the root. "I do not slumber," she replied. Her voice was unnecessarily rough.

Gabriel tensed. His hand flattened against her stomach. "I only meant-"

Raphael's heart sank a little when she recognized the disappointment in his tone. She was unaccustomed to her own wickedness, the way she spurned his kindness and gave him only tepid affection in return. She felt diseased. She felt as though she had been changed somehow, that the world had blinded her eyes to the beauty of Paradise. Her cynicism was unwarranted, as was the incessant chill that engulfed both her and her husband.

_No healer am I_, she scolded herself. _I perpetuate. I exasperate. I destroy…_

…_Audrey._

Without thinking, she dropped her hand over his and pulled it closer to her abdomen. His palm was a suggestion of warmth against her bare flesh. She had missed his touch.

"I was not dreaming," she amended. A breeze disturbed the trees and sent several leaves spiraling down to the mossy soil. Raphael smelled the incense of the forest, the scent of the holy shrine which did nothing to restore her peace of mind. She wondered, vaguely, how long it would take her to forget.

"I was not dreaming," she repeated, "because I was thinking."

"Of?" There was some hesitance in Gabriel's voice, a withheld sigh that still echoed within him nonetheless.

Raphael shifted, moving carefully so that the honed edges of her wings would not scrape his chest. "I like to think of you," Raphael said. She paused and then added, "You humble me."

It was only partially true, Raphael knew. She had not been thinking of Gabriel, but she was pleased to see how her mild lie touched him. There had been a time, not so long ago, when he seemed to live for her words alone, when she could soothe his secret pains with only a phrase or soft musing. And there was a time, she knew, when she had lived only for his joy. His happiness had been her greatest reward, his smile, his deep, baritone laugh…

So many things were missing now. So many things had changed. Raphael stretched out on the grass, her memory teased by melancholic nostalgia. This moment mirrored the past, and she reveled in Gabriel's attention. He was exquisitely gentle, her husband. He always had been.

"You should not be sorrowful," he said, his lips moving against her chin.

Raphael could not help it. She flinched. The assertion stung her, even though it was accurate. Gabriel, of course, knew her better than any living being. Except for her Father. And except for Michael…

She shut her eyes, overcome by her own private malaise, that damaging, damning soul-sickness. She was aware of the heavy weight of Gabriel's arm around her middle and for an instant, his touch struck her as possessive. There had never been a time, never a single moment in her existence, when she had not known that she had belonged to him. Occasionally, when she was giddy and foolish and overwhelmed by his love, she often told herself that her soul had been molded from Gabriel's, just as Eve was born from Adam's rib. It made the most perfect sense. It was another one of those pleasing fantasies, those beguiling lies she had placed her faith in. Deception was her unlikely ally, the only child she could truly claim as her own.

Raphael opened her eyes, her vision catching the iridescent splash of water over the slick rocks. The sun was hot on her cheeks and nose, her flesh heated by a fear that was very real, the terror of the unknown. Raphael's heart lamented the absence of her ignorance. She missed her naivety. She missed the past, which, according to Michael, had never existed as she thought it had.

Raphael's sorrow was beyond tears. Her Paradise was indeed lost.

She turned on her side and drew closer to Gabriel in a weak attempt to blot out her persistent misgivings. But it was not enough. Her existence had been shadowed by a very particular gloom, a darkness she had that unknowingly created. Raphael mourned the loss as if her life had been taken from her, her soul split from her physical body without any hope of resurrection. Michael had planted the insinuation in her mind. He had promised, in his sanctimonious way, that things would never be the same again. And even though Raphael couldn't bear to admit it, she feared that he was right. Her return home to Gabriel and her family had not seemed like a blessing, but a new denial. She was not the Prodigal Son. She was not welcomed by the ageless familiarity of the Garden and her Father's house. The predictability of her life had been shattered, all those precious, petty things she took comfort in losing their charm in the face of her overwhelming regret. The intimacy she had once shared with Michael, their sacred friendship, had been exchanged for a distant cordiality that hinted at respect, but not admiration. They were both diplomatic. Restrained. When they happened to cross paths, they spoke in muted undertones and regarded each other with a quiet suspicion that still felt unnatural. Raphael wasn't certain where her distrust came from, although she had learned to recognize Michael's own sense of abandonment, which could only be her fault.

Blame was acceptable, she decided. It was a convenient worry.

Her reunion with Gabriel, likewise, had been tainted with her guilt. It was easy to remind herself that she loved her husband, but Raphael could only miss the world she had left behind, all those loose ends she had forgotten to properly sever. She spent her time not in pray or thoughtfulness, but distraction. She often dreamed of what might have been, a tiny cabin in the woods, a child of her own, her unending desire for motherhood fulfilled by one glorious blessing.

Raphael was unhappy. She was desperately sad as she lay in Gabriel's arms. She wanted something that could not be named. She hated herself for having given up so easily. And she feared that all she had loved, the constancy of her existence, had been unreal, a dream she was always meant to awaken from.

Gabriel's wrist was pressing against her hip, leaving her with a nagging ache. Raphael lifted his arm off her waist and stood, shaking the shreds of grass from between her feathers. Gabriel rolled onto his back and observed her closely.

"Are you leaving?" he asked.

The longing in his voice was unexpected. It was a sudden chill on the benign breeze, an uncertainty that made Raphael pause, her shadow falling over him. She wanted to reassure him. She wanted to reassure herself, but she was held captive by her own doubt, which howled in her heart with unrepentant fury. Her frown was soft, sad, when she looked at her husband.

"I am still here," she said.

But it was a lie. She was deceiving him. There was a marked separation between her mind and heart, her body and soul. Sometimes, when she shut her eyes and lay very still, she would find herself back at the cabin by the lake. Sometimes, when she was lonely, she would look at the drawing she had stolen from Audrey and try to imagine herself as the girl had, as a healer…as a mother.

Raphael prodded her abdomen, her flesh still imprinted with Gabriel's touch. The emptiness taunted her, toyed with her disappointment. Instinct told her that even now a child would not completely assuage her longing. She was the perfect paradox…the healer who would always be wounded.

_Physician, heal thyself._

Raphael left Gabriel and went over to the pool, slipping into the water until she was submerged up to her chest. Her wings hit her back, heavy with water, the razor tips stinging the sensitive places behind her knees. Raphael ran her wet hands over her hair and rolled her toes over the smooth pebbles at the bottom of the pool. Wading across the pond, she pulled herself underneath the waterfall and stood there for a full minute, enjoying the hectic spray on her flesh. The drumming noise filled her, put a breathy echo inside all the empty spaces within. Raphael willed her mind to go blank, but it was lost to a whirlwind, a torturous torrent that promised an unhappy reckoning. She remembered Audrey's eyes. She remembered her adolescent petulance. She remembered how the child had cried when she learned that she would never walk again…and how she had laughed when she learned that she would.

A smile tugged at her lips, though Raphael kept it locked away, her private joy. She parted the curtain of water and moved into the grotto behind the waterfall. The air was chilled with the dampness and immediately raised gooseflesh along her arms. Dropping to the floor, Raphael felt the cold stone of the grotto beneath her thighs. She reclined against the wall. For a moment, she kept her eyes shut, breathing deeply, listening to the muted twitter of a bird in one of the trees. Her heartbeat was slow and she could not ignore the sorrowful note that accompanied each pulse. She was, for the first time in her life, properly mourning the loss of her child…the child she had never had, the child she had yearned for throughout the ages, beyond hope, beyond time, beyond the dream that had long since exhausted itself.

The spray on her face thickened, masking her tears, which were shameful. She took a shuddering breath and touched her hands to her stomach. Somehow, she felt that she had been deprived. Somehow, she felt that she had been wronged.

The echo of the water on stone was disrupted. Raphael heard someone part the stream and wet footsteps soon slapped across the floor. Instinctively, she drew her legs closer to her body and made room for him.

The weight of Gabriel's arm fell around her shoulders, his wrist resting comfortably between her wing joints and back. Without really meaning too, she leaned into his embrace, her chin pressed to his chest, just below his collar bone.

"I am sorry," Gabriel said. The words reverberated in his throat.

"You do not even know what you beg forgiveness for," Raphael replied. She tried to keep her tone even, although she was slightly irked by his bemusement.

Gabriel shifted. His fingers splayed across her left shoulder. "You are quite right," he said at length.

"I usually am." Her joke was poor, her sarcasm flat and dull. Gabriel was gracious, though. He had enough sense to laugh.

Raphael enjoyed the sound, the brassy tones which reminded her of bells and heavenly choirs and the heralds' trumpets that sounded from on high, ringing through the amber shadows of Paradise. It was something of ancient piety, a hidden joy that had yet to be uncovered by Man. Raphael was soothed. She remembered her youth, which was not yet lost. And she remembered that things had been perfect once. _Once…_

"I feel as though you want something from me," Gabriel said suddenly, his dulcet tones becoming stiff and unyielding, "but do you understand that I cannot give you what you seek?"

Raphael heard his own frustration as he denied her happiness, again and again and over again. "Unfortunately," she said, still unable to surrender her own disappointment and accept fate.

"Parenthood," Gabriel struggled with the word, "was not meant for us."

"Because we have never sought it out," Raphael replied. She knew she was bordering on blasphemous, but her mood ran wild, took her to places where dreams lived, free from any inhibition. For a second, she thought she felt Gabriel's grip on her shoulders go slack. He was pulling away, offended….

"You are blind," he said, although there was no hint of accusation behind his assertion. "You do not see how this wounds me as well."

Raphael forced her eyes open at that. She looked at him, a frank grimace digging at the corner of her mouth. "You said you never wanted children," she muttered.

Gabriel looked at the curtain of water. The slick of algae on the rocks was a faded green in the low sunlight. Raphael remembered that green was her favorite color. She had always thought that the old porch in front of the cabin would have looked nice painted green.

Her husband dropped his arm from her shoulders and took her hand, his wrist resting on her thigh. "It is unnatural for me," he admitted. "I have none of your wonderment, your constant yearning. I have never been brave enough to look beyond."

Raphael's cheeks grew warm. "Please do not condemn yourself," she said. Releasing his hand, she draped her arm around his chest. Gabriel sighed. And for an instant, the closeness was reestablished, the precious intimacy restored between them.

_It remains_, she told herself, hope struggling to life inside her. _It will always remain._

"It must be terrible," Gabriel acknowledged, "to have your longing go unfulfilled."

His words struck a chord within her. Raphael thought of Michael and the sadness in his eyes when they stood together in that snowy gully. Longing was treacherous, she realized. It was pervasive and it invaded the sanctity of peace, disrupted what should be left undisturbed. She did not want to think of Michael. He had taken from her what she loved the most, if only because she had been taken from him.

"Children," Raphael repeated. She wanted to return to the topic at hand, her focus driven by selfishness. Perhaps there was a way to convince Gabriel. It would be almost worth it, she felt, if she could make him agree with her. The fulfillment would be different, but she could find solace in their shared desire. Had he never looked at her and imagined her carrying his child? She wanted to know, but feared the knowing itself.

_Coward._

The moment was quiet and mild. Gabriel rested his cheek against her hair. His hand encircled her forearm, moving along the flesh with an unrealized yearning, a gentle desire.

Raphael closed her eyes and was surprised to find tears lurking close by. "It would mean so much to me," she explained, "if you thought of me as a mother, if you imagined us with a child. Would it be so terrible? Would it destroy you? I am not asking you to be a father, Gabriel…only think of it."

He hesitated and she feared his trepidation. The muted roar of the falls poured into her, created a rhythm in her body that drove her unnamed fear. The sun fell away from the water and outside, it began to rain.

Raphael felt the moisture on her cheeks. _Too much water_, she thought wildly. _We will all drown. Drown like…_

"Audrey," Gabriel said the name with surprising emotion.

Raphael's stomach dropped. "Please," she begged, her torment too acute.

"I could imagine you as her mother."

Her heart froze. The spray from the waterfall and the patter of rain beyond was only an empty murmur in her ears. She heard the great chaos of the world, acknowledged it, while reality itself seemed to slip away. Raphael felt the feverish rush of blood through her head, felt it surge against her temples until she was thoroughly dizzied. She shut her eyes and pressed herself nearer to Gabriel.

"I do not believe you," she said. Her words were not an accusation, but a question she directed at herself. Raphael doubted her maternal instincts, which had been superseded by something more primitive, a rejection of humanity that drove her to abandon Audrey. She lived inside her guilt. She considered and reconsidered what it took to be a mother and found herself lacking. Was Gabriel too gentle to see her faults? Was he too loving to wound her with the truth?

He touched the rim of her ear, his fingertips trailing down to the flesh at the base of her neck. "I tell you now," he said, "I was mistaken."

"I was never meant to be a mother-"

"I denied it. When I observed you with Audrey, I knew it but I denied it. You asked me once if I had ever seen myself as a father. You asked me if I could ever aspire to your yearning. I saw the naked hope in your eyes, Raphael, that night when we walked by the lake and I brought you lilacs. I saw that unfed flame within you. And I wronged you. I hurt you…by lying."

His voice dropped off into a self-condemning whisper. Raphael cradled his jaw in her hand, pulled his face closer until she could feel the stream of his breath across her cheek. "You have never lied to me," she insisted.

He moved, a muscle in his jaw tensing beneath her fingers. His wings ground against the stone. Little sparks hissed in the damp.

"I was frightened," Gabriel admitted. "When I witnessed you tending to her, I felt what already lay between you, the love of a parent for a child. It was a daunting prospect and my fear made me wretched. I knew that I could not look beyond as you do, Raphael. I am not brave. My heart is not as robust as you suggest. I could not imagine you as a mother. I could not see myself as a father, because the threat of pain terrified me. If the desire could not be fulfilled, I dreaded the experience. Bearing that constant ache, that yearning…it is _you_ who humble _me._ I could not withstand the torment. I could not live in the shadow of my desire throughout the ages and suffer through each perilous disappointment."

_Michael_, Raphael thought, but she said nothing.

Her hand fell over Gabriel's heart and that everlasting wellspring within her, the birthplace of her love for him, poured forth into her body, the stream unchecked. Her tears fell.

"I wanted you to know," he said, each word measured, "I wanted you to know that you were that child's mother…for a time. She was yours, Raphael. Audrey belonged to you."

He overwhelmed her. He conquered her basest fears and turned them into something beautiful. Sitting there, her body pressed to his, Raphael realized that the gift of healing was not hers alone. Through her love she had passed it on to Gabriel. She had given him many blessings and in return, been blessed by him. It was marriage, in its highest, most altruistic form. It was the true union of two souls. It was the renewal of an old vow, one that she feared had been wasted, but never truly forgotten.

Raphael raised herself up on her knees. With her face equal to his, she kissed him once, giving a small token of her love for him, which had not faded and never would.

His arms dropped around her waist and he pulled her onto his lap, his forehead resting against her brow.

"Is it over?" he asked with the perfect wonder of a child.

And Raphael saw it. His hope, naked and bare. That unfed flame. Where she had wished for a child, he had only wished for her. Raphael took his hand and lifted it towards her heart, let him feel the throb of blood against flesh.

Gabriel's chin jerked. He moved his lips against hers and murmured, "Forgive me."

Raphael put her hands on either side of head and held him there, the divide between them conquered, but the dark lingering still.

"Not yet," she told him.

Gabriel's eyes narrowed. It was more than disappointment this time. She had wounded him. She had rejected him.

Raphael couldn't bear to see the pale glimmer of hurt in his expression. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head onto her breast, her lips touching his hairline. The confidence, she felt, was gone from his strong limbs. For the first time, she experienced his weakness, a chink in his control, which was more defined than she had ever thought it could be.

"I am sorry," she said, desperate to appease his hurt, "but there remains…there remains…"

She could not finish. Raphael knew what was coming, but her own bravery was checked, cowed by the threat of revelation, which haunted them both. She remembered that evening with Michael in the woods, how dusk had come so suddenly and they had stood together in the cold and the snow and Michael was broken, he was broken because of her…

…and because of Gabriel.

The darkness of that night had spread between her and Gabriel. Raphael dreamed of questions she dared not answer, but she knew the rift would never be healed if she was not brave enough to cross it.

Her husband trembled against her and Raphael reacted to his uncertainty. There was comfort to be found in ignorance. _She_ was disrupting the norm now. _She_ was destroying the remnants of their peace. But Raphael realized that she would rather live in the eye of the storm than be lulled by unforgiving doubt. The truth was within reach and she, yes she was strong enough to grasp it.

"Was I meant for Michael?" she asked, surprised at how quickly the words came to her.

Gabriel raised his head slightly. He sat very still for a moment with the spray from the falls glancing off their bodies. "So he told you," he said at length.

Raphael stirred. His indifference put her on edge. "Yes," she replied. She paused, hesitating, "Does that trouble you?"

Gabriel lifted his head from her breast and gazed at her plainly. There was no cold deceit in his eyes. No malice or ill intent. He did not even seem sad.

"You have been waiting for this," Raphael acknowledged.

Gabriel nodded, his chin hitting the top of his collar. "I have, but I never thought Michael would be the one to tell you. He was reluctant. He always believed you to be more fragile than you really are. He thought your ignorance would protect you. I agreed, but only because I did not wish to quarrel with him again. But the truth is insidious. It is never imprisoned for long. I wonder, though, what prompted him to finally reveal it. He seemed so adamant at times…so insistent."

Raphael leaned back, her weight nearly breaking the circle of Gabriel's arms. Her surprise was apathetic. She had expected this, of course. There had been something in Michael's eyes that day, a wounded honesty that could not be denied or overlooked. Raphael suddenly regretted her anger towards him. She had unintentionally isolated Michael, pushed him away when she should have been glad for the truth. Raphael realized that she was turning into a hypocrite. Perhaps she truly was the seed of dissent in their relationship. Perhaps it had ended with her creation, on the day she had chosen Gabriel over Michael.

"I had hoped in vain that Michael was mistaken…misguided by his own maimed pride and anger," she said. "I pretended not to believe him, because I couldn't…I couldn't see you as so callous. You stole me, Gabriel, didn't you? You took me from your brother."

A small part of her still hoped that he would deny it.

Gabriel seemed to sense her dread. A heavy sorrow, born of pity, softened his stark countenance. "Dear Raphael," he said. His fingers framed her waist.

"God," she exhaled, the air seeping from her lungs in one sharp gasp. Her skin was tender, rubbed raw from the spray of the water. She felt as though she had been beaten. "Please, please don't…"

Gabriel nodded once more, his forehead brushing against her nose. "Yes, I did," he said and then fell silent.

Raphael's lips tightened in a frown. She had anticipated more of an explanation. She had prayed for some great revelation or a resolution to the conflict that she was beginning to see as age-old. Perhaps the dream of peace between them had been an illusion. Perhaps, from the moment of her birth, they had always labored under resentment. Perhaps she had been the cause of all this dissension…although how could she accept the blame?

"I thought you loved Michael," Raphael said, her hand braced on his shoulder. "Why would you ever hurt him?"

Gabriel raised his eyes to her, his expression untroubled, but touched with sympathy for her. "Are you not glad that I did?" he asked.

For an instant, she was stunned into silence. His heart beat against her fingertips. Raphael let the cadence unfold in her mind, thought of her younger years, when life had been sweetened by their love, when she had found in him that singular miracle that she had always believed had been set aside for them and them alone.

"What if it is tainted?" she asked him.

For the first time, the fear was evident in his eyes. This was a consequence he had not expected.

"You question everything," Gabriel said. "You question my love for you."

"No." Raphael pushed her hand against his chest, the pressure steadying him, steadying her. She was very aware of chaos, which lurked on the boundaries of their conversation, threatening to distort the truth and set her meaning awry. Although Raphael had never considered herself to be much of a scholar, she knew that the art of communication was a complicated one. Gabriel could misunderstand her. She could hurt him with a single, careless phrase. She could ruin what they had built together, the home they had found in each other through centuries of marriage and union. She was daunted by her own ineloquence. Biting her tongue, she reminded herself of her infallibility.

"I want to understand," she explained, "though it causes me pain. There is a history here that has remained untold. I am haunted by unjust secrets, Gabriel. What have you been hiding from me? What has Michael chosen to conceal?"

"You should not blame Michael for this," he replied quickly.

Raphael was stunned at his eagerness to defend his brother. There was much to their relationship, she felt, that still remained unknown to her. And perhaps the mystery was appropriate.

"It is strange," Gabriel remarked, his brow creasing. "I never wished to keep the truth a secret from you. Michael has a way of sheltering you. He wishes to preserve what he thinks was rightfully his. It seemed to me that he was the one in hiding, he was the one who had kept you from fully understanding. But here we are now, together and I find that I am the reluctant one. There is something sacred about the peace we once shared. It was our haven, our refuge, but we have awakened into a new world and so much, so much has been lost…"

His desperation wounded Raphael and she remembered her own hope, which had once been so bright. "Not everything is lost," she amended. "We are the very heralds of salvation, are we not? Can we be so blind as to not believe anymore?"

Gabriel said nothing for a moment. He looked away from her and at the curtain of water that tumbled into the shallow pool at the base of the slope. The grotto was filled with a cool, grey light and it made shadows of them both. They were echoes in the forest. They were the memories of the world.

Gabriel tilted his head to the side, a small sign of acceptance. "If I admit that I stole you from Michael," he said, "would you not be glad?"

Raphael did not hesitate. "Yes," she replied. "I am glad."

A hint of a smile pulled at Gabriel's mouth. The wind shifted and blew more water into the cave, the droplets sticking in his ebony hair, following the curve along his nose and down his cheeks. He touched her chin and his fingers came away wet.

"It is hard for me to remember the time before you were created, but I do know that Michael was the lonely one," Gabriel said. "He was my beloved brother, but even my company could not sate his longing. I could not understand his discontent. It was foreign to my narrow mind. I could only see the world for what it was, not what it could be. I never dreamed of having another…I never dreamed of you until our Lord made you. That is important, Raphael. You must always remember that you were made…not given."

Raphael leaned forward, reacting to the sentiment in his voice. She could recall the wonders of creation, that infinite space between oblivion and being. It was something that humans never fully understood, the gift of their life. It was a blessing that renewed itself continuously.

"I remember the two of you coming to me through the trees," Raphael said, recalling those first hectic, excruciatingly beautiful moments of her life. "You were both so frightening to me, creatures of fluid grace. You moved with ease through a world you had already made your own. I was the strange appendage. I almost felt as though I didn't belong. But then Michael embraced me and you touched my hair. I loved you both at once, in my own innocent way…but things changed, didn't they?"

"That was not my intention," Gabriel said. "I couldn't understand your purpose, only that I knew you were another companion. You were not a gift, as Michael thought, but the missing, _our_ missing. We were finally whole, I realized and perhaps we could have been content if things remained that way, so perfectly balanced. But then I saw Michael with you. I watched him. To me, he was careless. You'll acknowledge that he always has been reckless. It angered me. I thought he could not possibly see how special you were, how wonderful. And my anger, yes, that was my undoing. I could not regard you with such indifference. I could not ignore my concern, which was certainly more than concern even in those early days. I do no think I ever pursued you, Raphael, nor did you come to me. We simply existed together and in that existence, a change was wrought.

"Of course, I cannot free myself from blame entirely. I should have pushed you away when you lingered by me. I should never have let you rest by my side during those nights in the Garden. I should not have caught you when Michael let you fall from the sky. But I fell in love with you, Raphael, not because you were mine. I loved you even though you were meant for Michael. I loved you beyond all sensible reason and care, beyond my own doctrine of loyalty and restraint. I loved you and that is all. It came freely and it exists freely now_._ We were never chained by preconditions and in my foolishness, I always felt that our love was the better for it. Truer, if you will. But you can deny me now. You can curse me for what might have been a sin…wronging a brother. I can be glad, though, for what I did. And I can be glad for you, always, Raphael, _always_."

She shuddered when he repeated the word, her restraint breaking just a little. They had come to this place together, she knew. They had nearly reached the end of one long journey. Raphael put her arms around her husband. _Not yet_, she told herself. _Almost, but not yet._

"And Michael?" she asked, her whisper reverberating throughout the grotto. "He has yet to be redeemed, if he ever will be. How empty the world must seem to him, built on a broken promise."

Gabriel's eyes narrowed in thought. "You share something, you realize," he said. "Michael and you. You may not be his wife, but you have both yearned for what cannot be. There is a tie that will hold you together, a bridge to sustain you. I can honor that union, and I think you should as well."

"It is not perfect," Raphael admitted, her heart still poisoned with disappointment.

Gabriel frowned. "Nothing ever is, not even my love for him, my own blood. Our brotherhood for each other is not perfect. It never was. I like to think, however, that we have reached some manner of peace. And I would hope, dear Raphael, that you would as well. Join us, once more. We may not be as we once were, but there lingers the ghost of our happiness. We can live for that, can't we? Or we can live anew. "

But Raphael already had her answer, the one she had held in her heart since their sundering, when the world itself had ended and God's angels fell from the sky. She put her lips close to his ear. She spoke to him as his wife. "Gabriel," she said, relishing in the gentle rhythm of his name, "I forgive you."

He wept then, and she along with him. And the wind rose, bringing the rain into the waterfall, until all the world was baptized and they too were cleansed.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>If this were a movie, I suppose this would be the part when the screen fades to black, haha.

Thanks for reading! If you have a moment, please leave me a quick review. Feedback always makes me deliriously happy and I truly appreciate all the comments I receive.

In the next installment, Michael presents Raphael with his own peace offering. Raphael gets a lesson in parenthood from a real mother. With any luck, I should have chapter twenty-one posted in roughly two weeks. Have a great weekend everyone!


	21. Chapter Twenty One The Gift

**Author's Note: **This is the second and last Raphael-centric chapter. I promise Audrey will be back for the next installment, as bratty as ever. ^_^

I would like to take this opportunity to briefly thank my outstanding readers and reviewers, **piper, saichick **and **x x IChangeMyNameAllTheTime456 x x**. Also, if you've added this story to your favorites/author alerts list, thank you as well! I do hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Twenty-One The Gift**

They stayed together in the hollow, lingering in the cool shadow of the waterfall and the trees that hid the sky under a canopy of summer green. It was a soft time, not unlike the first days of their marriage, although Raphael sensed that their love had changed. Age and sorrow had matured her and she found herself nursing a new wound, a quiet, persistent agony that only ached when she moved too quickly. Raphael had learned to accept the languid malaise that gripped her. She lived in a shrouded fog. She held onto the wispy fragments of dreams, but feared the memories that came with them, forgotten relics of night and a child's smile that pricked her healing wounds open to bleed again.

She knew that she was no longer the wife she once had been, her devotion to Gabriel stymied by a weakness that left her pale and useless. Her husband was patient, though, his amorous overtures restrained by a respect for her immovable sadness. In her own way, Raphael was grateful and she acknowledged his understanding as best she could. And yet there were times when she felt stifled by his company. There were instances when Gabriel served to remind her only of the past, of a night in the Mojave and angelic blood splashed hot on stone and a young girl, a small breath of life hidden in the twisted metal of a car wreck.

She was grateful for her husband's attention, but even more grateful when he left her alone. Solitude was a peculiar blessing, one that she readily indulged in during unashamed fits of self-pity. The hollow became her hermit's cell and Raphael wallowed in her sickness. She enjoyed the sloth of her sorrow and spent hours sitting by the pool, the smooth feathers of her wings dappled with water and dewy pearls that she thought mimicked tears. And when she was not feeling selfish, she allowed herself to worry after Audrey, that brash child who would certainly mock her weepiness and dismiss her depression with one barb from her calloused tongue. Occasionally, Raphael found herself smiling when she remembered the girl. Occasionally, she felt her spirits begin to lift.

It was a hazy morning, the sun dipping behind a bank of silver-blue fog, when Gabriel interrupted her solitary grief. He appeared with a sudden rustle of wings and an air of understated urgency. Raphael was perched on a flat rock near the pool's edge and she only looked up when Gabriel touched his lips to her cheek.

"What do you think about?" he asked, slightly winded, his hair scented with clouds and the upper reaches of the sun-tinted sky.

Raphael's mouth twitched in a thoughtful smile, her singular attempt to appease his curiosity. "Old days," she muttered, "old ways."

"You are always appropriately poetic," Gabriel commented. He ran his finger over the curve of her right ear.

Raphael, however, grimaced. "You almost sound like Michael."

His expression bordered on sheepish and it occurred to her that she would never again see her husband appear so deferent. He was treading lightly around her, walking on the tips of his toes so as not to jar the wild, howling hurt inside her. "I have a proposition for you," he offered.

Raphael turned, the hem of her robe trailing into the pool, a splash of ivory in the clear water. "_Now_ you sound mercenary," she replied. "_Now_ you are familiar to me."

Gabriel chuckled, the sound rusty and discordant, not the peal of the bell chorus that resonated from within his ribcage. "It is time," he said and he touched her hair. His fingers snagged in a tangle. Raphael winced when he carelessly pulled it free.

"Have you grown impatient with my sorrow?" she asked, removing his hand from her hair and letting it rest in her lap.

Gabriel raised a brow. He let the quiet of the hollow fill the space between them, the gentle noises of life, the rush of the waterfall, the fickle twitter of a bird, soothing the doubt that had risen up and poisoned their words. "I do not speak for myself," he admitted. His hand trailed across her abdomen.

Again, Raphael winced, despising her empty womb.

"I come on behalf of Michael," he finished.

She was shaken, her limbs suddenly filled with painful adrenalin. Raphael leapt to her feet. The wet hem of her gown slapped against her ankles and she slipped on the rock, the weight of her wings pulling her back towards the pool. Gabriel steadied her, his strong arms gripping her waist in an embrace that was almost imprisoning.

"I hate to see the fear in your eyes when I speak of him," her husband said. His words were crafted from a lullaby, faint and nurturing.

His timidity made Raphael suspicious. It was not long before she remembered that night of depthless cold, a forest in winter, shattered icicles and Michael standing close to her, clinging to her as Gabriel did now. And he had laced her hope with a sinister insinuation, with his own private pain that he had nursed for decades and centuries and millennia.

_Raphael, you were made for me._

"I have nothing to say to him," she said at once, deflecting her discomfort with acid in her tone.

For the first time, her husband seemed disappointed in her. "Then will you listen to him, at least?" he asked.

Raphael's fear was hardened by scorn, her only armor. She looked at Gabriel with betrayal in her eyes. "I find it strange that you would ask this of me," she said. "After all, it was Michael who wronged _us_ first."

"Not entirely," Gabriel admitted.

Raphael was terrified by the defeat in his voice. The truth nagged at her. _You stole me from him, Gabriel, didn't you?_

She stepped off the rock, away from her husband, her bare feet cushioned by the springy grass perpetually wet from the spray of the falls. "I want none of this," she insisted. "Peace. Will neither of you grant me peace?"

"It is my most sincere wish," Gabriel said.

"I have no room in my heart for reconciliation," she said bitterly. His presuppositions bothered her. Raphael thought it was rather hypocritical of him to come to her, acting as a liaison for his seditious brother whom he had recently warred against himself. It was presumptuous and insincere and it left her feeling outnumbered.

"Raphael," Gabriel muttered her name. "I have never known you to be unjustly stubborn."

"You think my behavior is outrageous?"

"Uncharacteristic, perhaps."

"Because I am being selfish for once?"

"Do not do this." Gabriel turned, angled his right shoulder so that he was blocking her path, trapping her along with their argument. "How long have you stood between Michael and me?" he asked, daring to touch his fingers to her brow.

Raphael's stomach tightened. She was annoyed by his demeaning affection.

"How long have you kept us constant through our quarrels, our great consoler," he continued. "How long have you been our uniting bridge?"

But Raphael was not deceived. The veil had not fallen over her eyes and she saw clearly, past the false, soothing comforts into a reality she had always ignored. "That is not what Michael told me," she said steadily. "The divide between you and your brother, if it indeed exists, is my fault."

Gabriel drew his hand away from her, looking wounded and perhaps a little chastised. "That was a careless remark," he said. "A mistake."

"And truthful," Raphael supplied.

Gabriel lowered his gaze. It was a submission. It was, in essence, his own desperate surrender. "Allow us to make amends," he said, "for our faults, not yours."

Raphael shut her eyes. "I do not think I could stand the pain," she admitted, forcing herself to show him her weakness, to submit to Gabriel her own uncertainty for his judgment.

She expected his dismissal. She expected his derision. But Gabriel was patient yet. He healed her fragile hurt.

"Michael," he said simply, "has a gift for you."

Raphael opened her eyes, startled by the oddness of it all. It was strange, she thought, that Michael should come to her bearing gifts. It was also strange that Gabriel should support his brother's endeavors. They were rivals, after all.

And perhaps it was even stranger, she realized, that she had begun to think of them as rivals. Raphael knew that Gabriel was right. The time had come for the shedding of their stale sorrows, which were a poor succor for their wounded hearts. It sickened her to know that she had needed persuasion to right this wrong, that her own healer's art had been challenged by her desire to linger with disease. Raphael hated herself in that moment. It was terrible to be so obstinate and worse to acknowledge it.

Gabriel approached her with acceptance, with no hint of judgment or denial. She felt his palm on her shoulder. It was a memory of the old days, of the old ways, which she had long given up for dead.

"Will you come?" Gabriel asked her. He seemed on the verge of begging.

Raphael touched his fingers with hers. She was hesitant still, but she could accept her trepidation as natural. This was a new journey and it was daunting. And there were places, of course, where even angels feared to tread. She was reminded of her bravery, though, which was not arrogant like Michael's, nor overt like Gabriel's. Her courage came as a steady stream, as the will to endure and then endure again. She withstood. She fell down and then rose. She weathered all the yearning and the disappointment and still knew joy. And it was joy she was searching for, in Gabriel's love, in Michael's trust. There was a chance, she knew, that it could all be restored.

Rewarding her husband's diligence, she pressed his rough fingers between her soft palms, her skin lined with tales of healing, of Tobit and a fish's gallbladder, of the pool at Bethesda, of Audrey and her first shaky steps…

But there was another tale to be written, one that she had started on that cold desert night, when brother turned against brother and the world had come to a crashing, devastating end.

_Now_, Raphael told herself. _It ends now. _

She smiled once for Gabriel, her fear evident, but no longer persuasive. "Show me," she said.

* * *

><p>"I do not understand," Raphael muttered. She pressed her fingers to the space directly between her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nose.<p>

Gabriel was close by her shoulder, one hand resting on the latch of the wrought iron gate before him. They were both of them standing in the shadow of a high fence, outside a small garden that boasted a pool of inlaid tile and a cluster of orange trees. A set of elegant lounge chairs, separated by a squat table, sat on the far side of the pool and human woman reclined in one. She had her eyes tilted towards a book. A tall glass of lemonade rested on the table beside her and when she lifted her hand to take a sip, a silver bracelet jangled on her wrist.

Raphael was thoroughly confused.

"Is this Michael's gift?" she asked, unable to shield her skepticism. She had no knowledge of this particular human soul, this woman who had come to peace and salvation in Paradise.

As an archangel, Raphael was familiar with the human souls which dwelled in Heaven and she moved freely alongside them, a physical manifestation of the blessings their Creator had bestowed upon mankind. It was amongst men that she herself became only a vessel of God's love. She was a messenger. She was deliverance promised. She was the healer who extended God's hand and brought to Him all those who were weary and sick and broken.

Although she was occasionally uncomfortable around humans who dwelled on Earth, she was welcomed by those who had already been restored to Paradise. In their midst, there existed no barrier separating the celestial and mankind and Raphael rejoiced in the familiarity between her soul and the souls of men who had entered their Father's kingdom. She could not imagine, however, what gift Michael could have seen in this woman and her curiosity was piqued.

Gabriel's smile was crooked and he seemed almost amused as he observed his wife's well-placed confusion. "Michael found her for you," he explained. "I helped...where I could."

Raphael crossed her hands over her middle, her hips tilted beneath the skirt of her robe. She did not want to appear ungrateful, but….

"I am perplexed," she admitted. "And I do not recognize this woman."

Gabriel's smile faded ever so slightly, becoming pinched at the corners of his mouth. He moved his head closer to hers. "She is Audrey's mother," he said.

Raphael's hands fell limp by her sides, her palms brushing her robe with a silken whisper. She said nothing for a moment, worried that her words would be colored by anger or shock. Instead, she stepped closer to the fence and looked through the iron bars, trying to take the woman's measure from afar…and trying to decide if she had indeed come face to face with her rival.

Now that she observed the woman, Raphael realized that there was something vaguely familiar about her bone structure and facial features. She was tall and thin, wearing a long cotton sundress that came to her ankles. Her brown hair had been piled at the nape of her neck, secured in a messy bun with a chunky wooden clip. She kept the book in her lap and turned the pages almost absentmindedly, displaying a comfortable familiarity with a text she obviously held dear.

Raphael cocked her head to the side. For some reason, she felt woefully inadequate.

Gabriel shifted beside her, his arm brushing against her shoulder. "You are silent," he commented. "Have we upset you again?"

Raphael hesitated. She considered Audrey's mother for a minute longer. "No," she said. It was a half-lie, her pale attempt to soothe the insecurity that lingered. "I am still," she paused, giving herself time to choose the right words, "confounded," she said at last, unable to trust in her eloquence, which might very well turn hostile.

"Her name is Sandra," Gabriel explained, that same urgency in his voice again. "Michael knew her…or so he has told me. He said that she was a sad woman. Deluded."

"Oh," Raphael muttered. She was not comforted.

"Perhaps you would like to speak with her?" Gabriel asked.

Raphael turned to look at him. She was inexplicably disheartened by the hope in his eyes. Obstinacy, along with an undefined anxiety, kept her in place, held her tongue until she was forced back into a sulky silence. Raphael thought she understood Michael and Gabriel's motives. They were clumsy, trying their best to heal her wounds with inexpert hands. Their skill fell short, though, as did their offering for peace. Raphael shook her head. But she was being selfish again, wasn't she? She demanded perfection when the flaws themselves were beautiful in their own right. She should be grateful. She should drive away her vain agony and embrace Michael and Gabriel's good intentions. Wounds hurt twice, Raphael knew, once when they were inflicted and a second time as the scar formed, pulling tight the new skin and sealing in the pain.

This was the final torment, she told herself. The last obstacle. The remaining hurdle she would have to climb over to reach the end.

_I am not doing this for myself_, Raphael thought. _This is for them._

She found a small smile for Gabriel, her cheekbones aching as she tried to hold it in place. "Leave me alone with the woman," she said.

Her husband seemed pleased. He ran the edge of his finger along her jaw. "You will feel better," he promised.

Raphael, of course, was doubtful, but she kept her reservations to herself. Gabriel left, the iron chime of his wings signaling his departure as he took to the sky, where the sun had already burned off the morning haze. She stood outside the fence for a few minutes longer and watched Sandra read and sip her lemonade with a daintiness that was perfectly ladylike.

_Inadequate_, she reminded herself.

The latch of the gate clanged as Raphael let it drop back into place. Her bare feet padded across the warm stone as she followed the path around the inlaid pool. The air was heavy with the spiced scent of citrus, the oranges showing their tawny hides amidst the low-hanging branches. Doves were cooing in the deeper recesses of the trees and the angel enjoyed the uneven melody, which was low and constant in her keen ears. The woman looked up from her book, tucking a finger between the pages to save her place. She had brown eyes, like Audrey's, the gaze of a doe, tamed with age and a careful maturity that Raphael appreciated at once.

She ignored the warning thud of her heart. Her fingertips trembled ever so slightly when she touched them to the front of her robe.

"Sandra," she said the name, her voice rendered unassuming, no higher than the wordless songs of the nesting doves.

The woman laid her book on her lap, the gilt lettering on the covering flashing in the sun. It read _W.B. Yeats._

Sandra leaned forward in her lounge chair, strands of loose hair falling over her shoulders, the same dusty hue as her daughter's. _Like tree bark, _Raphael thought, savoring the comparison, which was indeed fitting.

Sandra echoed her smile with a restrained, almost matronly grin of her own. "Hello," she said. "You must be Raphael."

The angel's shock was appropriate and she even took a cautious step back, the hem of her robe skimming the hot stone pathway. "I am," she admitted.

Sandra's nose twitched, as if she were trying to suppress a laugh. "Michael told me that I could expect a visit from you."

"Michael," Raphael replied, "has an inherent tendency to ruin surprises." She should have expected such from Michael. He was notoriously practical and he relied more on functionality than ceremony. Of course, he would have forewarned Sandra. Of course he would make things more difficult for her.

There was a certain irreverence in Sandra's eyes when she looked at the angel. The woman touched her chin, her expression thoughtful. "You are Michael's friend, am I right?" she asked.

"Friend is a paradoxical word," Raphael answered. "It is at once simple…and complex."

"But you aren't his enemy?"

"No," Raphael conceded. "Certainly not."

What followed was an awkward silence. Raphael dared to glance at Sandra, saw too much of the daughter in the mother…or was it the other way around? She hated what she observed in Sandra, the vague hints of Audrey that manifested themselves in the way the woman moved and spoke, the way she flicked her hands every time she reached for her lemonade, the way she moved her head just so to listen to the doves singing in the orange trees.

_It hurts_, she thought, touching her breastbone with cold fingertips. _Why have I let it hurt me?_

She knew she had to take command of the situation…and herself.

But to her bemusement, Sandra took the imitative. She leaned forward, one hand thrown carelessly over her knee. Beads of condensation trailed down from the rim of her lemonade glass. "Michael told me a little bit about you," she said. She paused, and then added. "You are so beautiful."

Raphael ignored the sentiment, which was inconsequential to her. She knew she wasn't beautiful, but human eyes were often obscured by wonderment. They saw wings and were awe-struck. They found pretty fantasies in simplicity. Raphael nodded once, her chin grazing the very top of her collar. "Thank you," she said tactfully.

"Michael also told me that you've been taking care of my daughter Audrey." The woman shifted her book onto the table. Her glass rattled with the movement.

That stung. Raphael stayed perfectly still, her knees locking. She was lost for words, trapped by her own wretched indecision and her desire to save face. The pain was acute, as new and fresh as when she had first left Audrey alone to fend for herself, a little rabbit lost in the big dark woods. Standing before the girl's mother now, her own deficiencies were impossible to overlook. Raphael realized that her maternal instinct was an illusion. She was nothing like Sandra Anderson. She was, at her best, a crude imposter.

Raphael bit down on her tongue, the physical hurt shocking her body. "Yes," she said as she slowly regained herself. "I did look after your daughter…for a time."

"Huh," Sandra laughed as she took a sip of her lemonade, "she's a brat, isn't she?"

Raphael's neck arched, her head thrown back. A shock of anger rushed through her body. She shifted uneasily, trying to keep the glare from her face. How could a mother…

"It's all right," Sandra continued, raising her hand in acknowledgment. "I take the blame. It's all my fault. I was an indulgent mother. I spoiled her. It took me a while to realize it, probably not until she was thirteen, when the back-talk got _really_ bad. Sometimes I just wanted to slap her. The trouble is, she's so smart. She always knows how to get under your skin, how to deliver that one barb that just drives you _crazy_. Is that why you gave up on her? I guess angels are no more patient than humans."

"I never gave up on your daughter," Raphael replied. She was frightened by her rage. She had never been one for wild emotion and it was difficult now to remain indifferent. Sandra hadn't insulted her, but she had committed a greater crime, had taken for granted what Raphael had yearned to have, what she would have sacrificed for.

"You have no liking for motherhood," she observed coldly.

The woman put down her glass, her fingertips moist. "It doesn't matter whether I like being a mother or not," she said. "I don't have a choice."

"That's an awful way to think of your daughter…as an entrapment."

"Well she is!" Sandra looked indignant. She had the mien of a queen and yet Raphael saw through her, recognized that weakness that was inherent in all human souls, the taint of original sin and subsequent trespasses.

"That was one of Audrey's favorite arguments," she continued. "She liked to say that she never chose to be born, that I was to blame for her life and I used to think, how could _she_ take _that _for granted? Of course, that's the greatest gift a parent can give to a child…life. And she didn't even want that from me."

"Children need more than life," Raphael commented, frustrated by the woman's utter intractability.

Sandra's grin was provoking. "I suppose you're going to tell me now that kids need to be loved?"

Raphael ran her tongue along the inside of her teeth. Somehow, she had been routed.

"Well, I gave her that too." And then Sandra looked sad, her grief impenetrable, a scar worn not with pride, but with an understanding that Raphael knew superseded her own.

She was daunted. She did not know what she had expected from this woman, perhaps a bit of doubt, a mention of regret, but Sandra remained impassive. Raphael was frustrated by her indifference but she did not react. Her thigh muscles were beginning to ache, her spine overly rigid and she finally surrendered to her discomfort. The remaining lounge chair was too narrow to accommodate the girth of her wings and she was forced to settle herself on the ground in front of the table. The stone was rough against her ankles and the air was thick with the scent of stifled heat, overwhelming the perfume of the oranges until the citrus smelled almost burnt.

"You look like her," Raphael admitted. She caught Sandra's gaze, her wine-dark eyes, and held them. "You are very much like your daughter."

To her credit, Sandra seemed only vaguely bewildered. She ran her hand over her hair. "You are nothing like them," the woman said. "If I had seen you first, maybe I would have believed."

It was Raphael's turn to be confused. But she disguised her bemusement, hid it behind an ugly scowl that took away her beguiling youth and made her look old. "Perhaps," she ventured, "you are comparing me to Michael."

"Yes." Sandra nodded, her elegant fingers nestled under her chin. "And the others…the ones that took my husband Howard from me. You don't seem like an angel…and yet you are."

That made Raphael scoff, for she didn't think her angelic nature could be more obvious. For effect, she moved her wings, stirred the air a little, which was close and thick around them, heavy with incensed summer.

"You are gentle," Sandra said with a small jerk of her head. Her carefully coiffed bangs quivered against her brow.

Raphael exhaled through her nose. She wasn't certain she wanted to be described as gentle and she thought back to several memorable incidents, battles with the demon Asmodeus in Egypt. Hmm, gentle indeed.

"Anthropomorphism," Raphael said. "You project your own characteristics, your human nature, onto beings that are not necessarily human. You are too irreverent to see the divide, the very real gap between you and I."

"Is that what you told Audrey?" Sandra asked.

Raphael wasn't hotheaded enough to be insulted. _Poor manners_, she thought. _A lesson Audrey learned from her mother. _She felt the weight of the conversation upon her. It was times like these when she usually faltered, groping for some common connection with a strange human soul. Now, however, she had an unlikely advantage, a shared interest with the woman sitting before her, who looked so demure with her feet tucked underneath her, a picture of understated grace.

Turning from the pool, she glanced at Sandra, saw the corner of book resting on the edge of the table next to the glass of lemonade.

"What do you read?" Raphael asked.

Sandra's laugh was low and delicate, like the gossamer flutter of a butterfly's wing. She looked over at her book and held it up so that Raphael could see the cover. "Its poetry," she explained, "by Yeats."

Raphael blinked. She knew little of poetry outside the psalms and prayers and hymns she sang to glorify her beloved Father. Human artistry was a foreign concept and she was tempted to change to topics when Sandra surprised her by plowing ahead.

"I studied literature when I went to college," the woman said, thumbing through the book, the scent of citrus permeating the creamy pages. "But then I got older, I stopped reading poetry…stopped dreaming."

"I understand," Raphael replied, even though she didn't. She was trying to be sympathetic, trying to extend herself in a way that would reach Sandra. But what would she find if she did connect with the woman? Pain, most likely. Remembrances that were best left forgotten, buried beneath layers of old scars.

"It is necessary to dream," Raphael found herself saying.

When she opened her eyes, she saw that Sandra had come to the edge of the chair, thrown her long legs over the side so that she was closer. "Do you dream?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

"Yes."

"About what?"

Raphael did not answer. Instead, she asked, "Did you read poetry to Audrey?"

"Every night, when she didn't whine for her Winnie the Pooh books."

Raphael frowned, acknowledging to herself that there was a good deal she didn't know about Audrey, so much of the experience of motherhood she had missed. The same was not true for Sandra, though, who had been blessed only as human women were. Raphael was jealous, envious of Eve and all her daughters. She felt incomplete, her very femininity challenged. Perhaps, she considered, Sandra wasn't the only one guilty of projecting. Raphael had dreamed herself into womanhood, had filled her womb with an unrealistic desire which was only now beginning to seem hopeless to her.

Her expression soured and she had a hard time disguising her dismay from Sandra. Mindlessly, she picked at the blades of grass underneath her hand. One of the doves took flight from its nest, wingtips bleached by the afternoon light. Raphael's shoulders were warmed by the buttery sunshine.

She looked at the book on Sandra's lap. "Did she have a favorite?" she asked, fueled by her own forbidden curiosity.

The woman raised a narrow brow. "She did."

"Which…which one?"

"I'll show you." Sandra rifled through the pages, the paper slapping against her manicured fingers. It took her a few minutes to find the passage and when she did, she handed the book over to Raphael. "That one there," she said, pointing to the title. "I don't think Audrey knew what it really meant," Sandra added, "but she liked the fairies."

Raphael traced her fingers over the title, fine script in a silken ink that read _The Stolen Child_. The poem was a thing of fancy and it thrilled her to know that she had discovered something that Audrey found dear. She mouthed a few of the lines to herself.

_Come away, O human child!  
>To the waters and the wild<br>With a faery, hand in hand,  
>For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.<em>

Raphael flattened her palms against the pages, trying to feel the words. She realized then that her yearning had somehow been defined. The vague, obscure desire of hers that had demanded fulfillment was focused. She had wanted a child, but now she only wanted Audrey. Raphael stirred, disturbed by her epiphany. She shut the book and handed it back to Sandra.

"I have seen enough," the angel said. "I shall take my leave." And she was about to rise when the woman touched her elbow.

"What are you afraid of?" Sandra asked.

Raphael's eyes widened. "Anthropomorphism," she repeated, "you assign human characteristics to-"

"But that's the trouble," Sandra interrupted. "I think that's what I've seen in you all along. You're not like the others because you're too human. I suppose that's what Audrey saw in you. Or maybe that's what you saw in her."

Her astuteness was frightening, her gaze too piercing, soul-searching. Raphael was repulsed by what she found in Sandra, the mirror that reflected with an ugly clarity. She blinked, her gaze sharpened by the glare of the light. She decided that she didn't like Sandra and she liked Michael's gift even less. The woman was a distinct reminder of loss, a graven image of sorrow and all that Raphael knew was missing inside her. She was feeling distinctly uncharitable at the moment, eager to shake the mouthy woman off and return to her safe malaise which was useless, but her own nonetheless.

But Audrey's mother continued to tug at her hand with the same persistence of her orphaned child. She possessed that singular determination, that unquenched brightness that had drawn Raphael to Audrey and now drew her to Sandra.

"It doesn't matter," the woman said, "because I know whatever Audrey saw in you, she didn't see in me."

_Dear Father_. Raphael wasn't certain if she had misheard. She stood very still then, that howling hurt settled within her, the great noise of her sorrow silenced for one, breathless instant. She stood very still…and she listened.

"It starts with fairy tales," Sandra continued, her voice low and shaken with a noticeable vibrato, the tone of a cello. "It starts with reading bedtime stories and sharing secrets." She paused, her pain evident. "But then there comes a time when the door to her room is locked and she doesn't want to be tucked in anymore. You fight, because there is nothing else to do. You look at your child and see a vicious little enemy. You second-guess her more than you do yourself. And then one day its all over and your alone with those same poems and she's been broken…I remember the look on her face…that last look…she was so disappointed in me."

Raphael thought Sandra would begin to weep, but she didn't. Her inner strength won out and she held herself upright with a firmness that was admirable. Nevertheless, the angel touched the very top of her head, feeling as though the woman had lost some private battle.

"Peace," she said, wondering if this was what Michael had wanted her to see, how wretched motherhood could be, how damning.

Sandra took a deep breath and her body did shake a little. In the distance, the solitary dove was wheeling amidst the taller trees. "What are we doing here?" she asked.

Raphael did not hesitate. "I am certain," she said, "that this was a mistake."

Sandra glanced down at the cover of her book. Her lemonade glass had spread of pool of water near its base. "You _are_ different from them," she said. "You have no faith."

Raphael bit back her argument, devoured her pride and stuffed it away inside her. _This is your gift_, she told herself. _This is what Michael tried to give you. The truth…_

She didn't know if she hated him for it. It was a subtle cruelty, his act of revenge…or mercy. Raphael felt that the choice was hers. She alone could decide what to make of it…and what to make of Sandra.

This was either a nightmare or a blessing. This was her final chance to heal the wound or to rip it open again. Raphael dropped her hand onto Sandra's shoulder, leaned on her for support.

_Why do I hate this woman?_

Sandra looked up at the angel. She was still gracious, even in her sorrow. Raphael envied her poise. And she envied the one thing she had, the one thing she would _always_ have.

"Thank you for coming to see me," Sandra said. She patted Raphael's hand with her fingers.

Raphael felt wretched. She could only scowl. "You should know," she said, "I was misled."

Sandra flinched, the movement a manifestation of her own self-doubt. "You expected to find a better mother?" she asked.

"No," Raphael replied truthfully. "I expected to find something in myself." She paused and touched her abdomen, that barren space inside her that was the source of her shame.

"And you were disappointed?" Sandra tilted her head, a strand of her hair brushing across Raphael's knuckles.

The angel nodded. "Always."

They let the quiet fall over them, that creeping silence that stole away the languid moments of summer. Raphael longed for snow and the sharp chill of winter. But most of all, she longed for the girl that she had left behind, the child who would never be hers, because she already belonged to another.

"Do you still wish to know what I dream of?" she asked Sandra suddenly.

The woman squeezed her hand and for an instant, unity existed between them, an understanding that was ageless and born more from what they shared rather than what set them apart. "Don't tell me," she said. "If you keep it a secret, it might still come true."

"Thank you for your hope," Raphael said, feeling suitably charmed, if not soothed. The moment, she felt, had already exhausted itself and she turned to go, letting her hand fall off Sandra's shoulder. She was halfway to the gate when the woman called out to her.

"I wanted to thank you too," she said, standing, her skirt fanning out around her legs, "for looking after Audrey."

Raphael glanced over the crook of her wing. The dove was returning to its nest with a thin twig clutched in its beak. The leaves of the tree fluttered, showing flashes of orange, bulbs of yellow and gold. _The truth_, she thought and at last, accepted Michael's gift.

"I was selfish," she said.

Sandra blinked, untroubled. "Then can I ask you to be selfish again?" She paused. "Will you take care of her for me? _Can_ you take care of her for me?"

Raphael froze, clutching her abdomen. The emptiness inside didn't seem quite so daunting anymore, the harrowing coldness gone, the despair…

"Maybe," she said and left the garden, left Sandra to her book of dreams and all the memories that were still hers, not Raphael's. When she had shut and latched the gate, she caught sight of a long shadow stretched over the grass, a patch of darkness that reached across the green to the hem of her robe.

Raphael smiled wryly. "Gabriel," she muttered, welcoming her husband's customary diligence.

"I am sorry," a rough voice muttered.

Raphael's head shot up.

Michael was leaning against the bole of a poplar tree, struggling to appear indifferent. But he stirred every time the wind ran through the leaves and he moved with the rhythm of his own particular trepidation, showing an insecurity that was not natural, but awoke what remained of the nurturer in her.

And Raphael knew that she would have to forgive him. Someday. Maybe today. Or maybe not.

When she passed him, she paused and touched his wrist. "Thank you," she said.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>The passage featured in this chapter does indeed come from _The Stolen Child_, by Yeats, which details the old myth of fairies (who supposedly had difficulty bearing children of their own) stealing away hapless human children. Although Raphael is neither a fairy nor a thief, I thought the parallels were interesting.

Thanks so much for reading! If you have some free time, please leave me a review. In the next chapter, Audrey begins to adjust to life in the refugee camp…only to receive an unwelcome visit from an angel she'd rather not see. I'm currently swamped with coursework (being a college senior is not as fun as one would think) so my next update may be a little bit late. I apologize in advance for any delay. Take care and be well, everyone!


	22. Chapter Twenty Two Unlovable

**Author's Note: **I think this is the chapter of mixed messages. Audrey sends Raphael mixed messages. Raphael sends Audrey mixed messages. And neither of them ends up happy, unfortunately. ;)

As usual, I would like to thank my awesome readers/reviewers, **saichick **and **Jenny Joker**, along with those of you who have added this story to your favorites/author alerts lists. I do hope you enjoy this installment!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Twenty-Two Unlovable **

It became Audrey's habit to wake before the sun rose. There was something about the cool blue shades of the dawn sky that she found attractive, the dark ceding to a milky grey that was almost always veiled by fog. The camp, which was close enough to the foot of the mountains to be shielded from the worst winds, was frigid even when the sun managed to climb past the peaks. But Audrey had long become used to the cold.

Lying flat on her back, the lumpy mattress of her cot leaving her with pains in her shoulders, she stared at the old water stains that stretched across the ceiling of the camper. Her current home was regrettably different from the cozy cottage she had left behind and it was hard to ignore the loss, that sense of lingering spiritual deprivation. There was a great gulf inside her, a notable absence that had been filled with security and what she had thought was love.

Or something like it, anyway.

A crease appeared between Audrey's eyes as she frowned and rolled over onto her side. Her cot was narrow and she had to sleep like a spider, with her arms and legs all curled up against her shivering body. And then there was that smell, that musty odor that left her blankets just a bit too damp and made her cough into her pillow at night. It was like sleeping in a coffin, tucked into a grave that had been hollowed out just for her.

Audrey groaned under her breath, trying to stretch her legs, the muscles in her calves stiff with pins and needles. The pain was a reminder of how far she had come, but still, she was not grateful.

_Is it so wrong, _she wondered, _that I want more?_

Audrey threw off the blankets and sat up. She had to be extra quiet in the mornings, careful not to disturb the other kids she shared the camper with. Most were elementary school age, children who couldn't spell the world apocalypse, much less understand what it meant. She felt sorry for them the most.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she found her boots in the dark and slipped on her coat, which she usually used as a second blanket. Her clothes, one of the sweaters she had taken from the cabin and an old pair of sweatpants that could probably fit a guy three times her size, were rumpled and dirty, but she had learned to sleep in them. Warmth always trumped cleanliness, and after suffering through a few cold days that promised frostbite, Audrey had become a lot less picky about her fashion choices. She didn't care if anyone saw her like this now, with ratty hair and cracked lips and a sprinkling of acne on her chin. Vanity was a luxury. It was something she remembered from the past, like rosemary soup and colored pencils and flowers brought from God's own garden.

With only a little difficulty, Audrey forced her grief away, into a pit deep in her stomach, where it could seethe in the true heat of her anger. She tiptoed through the crowded camper. There were about five little ones sleeping in makeshift bunks beds that had been rigged in place of the camper's cabinets. The other children, two who were about middle school age, and a sixteen year old girl named Mari, slept on cots like Audrey's. The arrangement of the beds was rather creative, given the cramped space in the old camper, but over the past few weeks, she had become adept in sneaking past cots without waking the others. Audrey liked it best that way, avoiding conversations that were always awkward and questions that struck a little too close to home for her comfort. Mari, at least, was respectful of her privacy and didn't prod too much. For that, Audrey was more than a little relieved. She knew she couldn't even begin to explain what had happened back at the cabin, the losses that she had endured which were so much greater than most, the glimpse of glory she had received, only to be denied.

Again and again and over again.

Audrey grimaced, battling the memories as they climbed up her throat from her stomach. They struck her most during these quiet moments, when the mornings were young and no one else was awake, only the armed guards that Hank sent to watch the roads. The refugee camp itself was situated on old logging grounds, a few miles from a no-name town that Audrey had only visited once when she rode in the back of a pick-up with Mari as they went to fetch supplies. The sheriff of the old town, some hick cop named Hank, who had a bit of a beer belly and face marked with acne scars, had become the de facto leader of their new community, which was mostly made up of the townspeople who had fled up into the mountains by the logging grounds when the apocalypse hit. From what Audrey had gathered, most of their homes had been burned out by the possessed and if it hadn't been for Hank and his few deputies, a good part of the forest might've been charred as well.

Now the survivors lived in the old foreman trailers and a few dilapidated RVs that hugged the foot of the mountains. There had been talk of salvaging the buildings in town, but with only thirty refugees and more than a few of them kids, Audrey didn't think it would be possible.

By the door of the camper, she paused and groped through the dark, finding the slender rod of her fishing pole nestled in the corner. Audrey tucked her gear under her arm and hobbled down the stairs, taking care to open the door as quietly as she could.

Hank was a tough boss to work for and he ran his camp with all the efficiency of a proud former Marine. He wasn't at all like her ex-boyfriend, Vick, but then again, from what Audrey had heard from the others, Hank had been a grouch even before the apocalypse.

The rules of the camp were simple. You pitched in or you hit the road. And not everyone was welcome, either. In the days since Audrey had arrived, she had seen more than a few strangers pass through on their way to Seattle, where there was supposedly a large settlement in a sport's stadium in the city. Hank was suspicious of any newcomers though, as he had been wary of Audrey when she first came trudging up the road a few weeks ago with her rather defined limp and a surprisingly well-fed appearance. It had taken her a couple of days to convince him to take her on, although Hank had made it clear that she would have to earn her keep. For the first week, she found herself helping Mari with the little kids in what was probably the worst baby-sitting job ever. She had never been good with children, and as it was nearly impossible to beg off work, she found another job that was slightly more bearable.

Audrey breathed in the damp mountain air, heavy as it always was with humidity and the promise of rain. The fog had come crawling off the peaks and now rested thickly in the basin of the valley. The paths between the campers and trailers were marred with muddy puddles, shallow ruts carved by truck and ATV tires. Most of Audrey's neighbors were still asleep and it was only in the vague distance that she could see the guards roving by the turn-off to the interstate. She got a little chill when she spotted the thin outlines of their hunting rifles and she couldn't help but think back to Paradise Falls, when she had shot a gun for the first time in her life…and aimed to kill.

Audrey found the bucket she kept outside the camper door, the white plastic bottom splattered with mud and few crawling earthworms. This was the part she hated the most and it had taken her many tries before she had properly learned to bait her hook. At first, she had tried to convince Hank to lend her a couple of crackers or some bacon to lure the fish, but the old sheriff was stubborn. There was no point, he had said, in using food to catch food. And while Audrey knew that his logic was solid, she still hated impaling those slippery worms on her hook.

She had to grit her teeth as she groped through the bucket to select her bait. Her fingers were already numb with the cold and gloves made it difficult to maneuver the line, so she kept her hands bare. It took her a few minutes to get the worm on the hook and when she did, she tried not to look at it wriggling on the silver spike. She was reminded of cruelty everyday, the petty acts of injustice and the great tragedies that seemed insurmountable, as the world wept for its sins and did penance for a past that was not yet washed clean.

But repentance was a two-way street, Audrey thought and not even Heaven was innocent…

_Raphael, I hope you're watching. _

Rounding the camper, she headed off down towards the river with her fishing gear. There was a sloping trail that led away from the camp and through the woods. Audrey always enjoyed this walk, sheltered as she was by the towering pine trees. The sun was just about coming up when she reached the mouth of the trail and looking at the gold light on the green boughs, she was ever conscious of the world around her, and the skies above, which kept their secrets behind a shroud of moody clouds.

Audrey leaned on her fishing pole for balance as she walked, if only because she couldn't bear to take the crutch Uriel had made for her. She allowed herself to think about him the most, feeling that the gentle angel was thinking about her, guarding her from a watchful distance with that same perfect tenderness she yearned for. And sometimes, when she wasn't able to sleep at night, Audrey would talk to him. It was a bit like praying, she knew, carrying on a conversation with someone she hoped was listening, but who never seemed to answer back. Praying to Uriel was easiest though, because he had come to symbolize what remained of her hope, that untainted gift of her youth and naivety, the image of an angel who actually was an angel, a protector who had been unwilling to leave her, even though he had to.

Audrey's empty stomach clenched when she thought back to that strangely blissful period she had spent at the cabin and it was impossible to exclude Raphael from her memories. She knew she should have been more distrustful of the angel, as she had been of Gabriel and even Michael. And yet, the vague promise that Raphael had offered her, a life of long talks and Earl Grey tea and lilacs in winter, had made her long for what didn't exist. As the weeks had passed at the refugee camp Audrey had come to realize that it wasn't the angel's rejection that had hurt her the most, but the denial of what she wanted. It was disappointment in its purest form. It was her hope scorned. For a time, Audrey had imagined something beautiful, something more real than a dream that had taken shape before her. But then it was gone and she was left only with a ringing emptiness where her soul had once dwelled. And nothing would ever be the same again. Never, ever again.

The fairy-tale was over. Snow White was lying dead in the woods. The hunter had cut out her heart. Audrey resigned herself to reality, sacrificed her faith in order to feed the bleak coldness around her, the remnants of her life which she couldn't pick up and put back together because she had been left alone.

_Watch me, Raphael_, she thought as she climbed down the path into the muddy clay of the river bank. The fog was lying in thin shreds over the water, torn by the wind that funneled down through the mountain passages. Audrey paused to pull her hood over her head. The sky to the east was a pleasant pink now and she wondered if they would finally have a clear day. She hoped so.

It took her a minute to cast her line. She had not perfected the art yet and her dad had been more into golfing than fishing, not that he had taught her how to putt either. Audrey had only a few remembered images of the people she had seen fishing off the piers in L.A. and her days by the river were spent mostly in trial and error. Surprisingly enough, she had caught a large, fat-bellied trout the week before and had made steady progress since then. The whole business, she learned, seemed to take a lot of patience, which had never been her most treasured virtue. But still, it was a whole lot better than wiping some kid's snotty nose or repeating the same bedtime story over and over again.

How did moms ever do that stuff?

After she cast her line, sinking her lure about halfway across the narrow river with the current pulling at it, Audrey settled herself in for a few hours of waiting. Although it was hell on her legs, she preferred to stand, because the ground was always soaked and the nearby rocks were too slick for her to comfortably perch on. She stood about a foot away from the water and adjusted the give on her line.

"Watch me, Raphael," she said with a sigh. "You just watch me."

Her pray was answered.

Audrey heard her before she saw her. The direction of the wind changed, dragging the branches of the pine trees askew, low waves fanning out over the river. A reflection showed in the water, briefly eclipsing the rising sun and passing over Audrey's face. She tucked her chin inside her dirty coat and frowned. Hot anger blinded her and she kept her eyes on her fishing pole. Audrey was determined not to look at her. She would not, under any circumstances, look at her.

Raphael landed near the tree line, her wings ringing like hail against stone. Audrey could hear the angel breathing, her presence perfumed with some delicate scent that reminded her of flowers and grass. The silence between them was painful and her spine went rigid, touched by an unwelcome chill that still crept over her whenever an angel was near. And despite her rage, despite her very well-placed fury, Audrey found she could not get over her wonder entirely. It was imprinted on her soul**, **that awe of the celestial, of Heaven and its keepers.

Her hands tightened over the pole until her knuckles bulged against her skin. She felt the tendons in her wrist stretch, the blood rushing to her limbs and face.

It would be better, Audrey decided, if she never saw her again.

Raphael's footsteps whispered over the fallen pine needles. She wasn't wearing her boots, Audrey noted, but her soft-soled sandals. She had come on light-feet, a creature of gossamer beauty but perfected cruelty. Audrey jerked the pole and let her line slap against the water. She wanted so very much to scream.

But the silence was frozen, a layer of ice stretched thin and cracking. Raphael emitted a fluttery sort of sigh.

"Oh," she said.

The charm was broken, the spell shattered. Audrey's hands went limp and she nearly dropped her pole. She had to bite down hard on her tongue to keep from speaking and as her teeth slashed the tender pink flesh, she tasted the heat of her blood. It sloshed down her throat, metallic, like holding a penny in her mouth.

"I taught Tobias to fish," Raphael said. She was directly behind Audrey now.

The girl set her jaw. _I hate you_, she thought. _I hate you so much._

"We burned the heart and liver to ward off the demon Asmodeus," she explained. "We used the fish's gallbladder to cure his father's blindness."

Audrey stared at the water. It was brackish near the shore, where some of the sludge from the recent snowstorms had run off and dragged mud into the river. If she wasn't careful, Audrey knew that her line could easily become tangled in the bits of twig and leaves that floated on the surface. She remembered looking at pictures in one of mother's old poetry books that showed fairies riding along in leaves as though they were tiny boats.

Raphael put her hand on her shoulder. Audrey wanted to recoil, but she thought the reaction was petty, an exaggeration of her anger, which was potent enough in its own right. Instead, she stood quite still, the weight of the angel's palm only vaguely discernible through her heavy coat and sweater. She was annoyed at this violation of her personal space, but not incensed. Audrey bit her tongue. She stayed quiet and held onto the last of her patience by her fingernails.

"Perhaps you think I am blind," Raphael said. Her tone erred towards preachy. "Perhaps you think I never truly saw you."

Audrey's jaw loosened, her mouth dropping open, the cold air stinging her cut tongue which she had nearly gnawed in half.

"I don't," she said, happy when her voice came out steady, "I don't think about you at all."

Raphael dropped her hand from her shoulder. "You have every right to be angry-"

Her heart jolted. Before Audrey knew what she was doing, she had turned around to face the angel and then they were standing there, toe to toe and Audrey was close enough to see how heartbroken Raphael truly was, how devastated. But it didn't matter. Her sympathy remained unstirred and she realized that the blindness was hers, that she could rush into this fight with her eyes wide open but not seeing. She was glutted with the wild lust of her rage. She wanted to tear and to kick and to bite, to pull down and destroy and repay Heaven for its callousness.

_It's not that hard to hurt her_, Audrey assured herself. _It's not that hard to make her bleed._

And she imagined the river running red, sister to the Nile. She imagined what revenge would do to her…and what it would do to Raphael.

Audrey forced herself to look at the angel. She held her gaze and was pleased to see uncertainty mirrored in her eyes, that hazy bewilderment that always seemed to characterize Raphael.

"You know," Audrey said, throwing her words at the angel, her mouth still tangy with blood, "I think you should be ashamed of yourself. You're a pretty piss-poor angel, Raphael. No wonder Michael and Gabriel have to follow you around everywhere to make sure you don't screw up. Too bad I didn't listen to them in the first place when they wanted to take me away. You fucked up…again. You were supposed to give me back my faith, turn me into a believer and what not, but you failed. _Completely_. You didn't even come close. You _failed_."

Audrey was weakened as the words left her, panting in hectic gasps that brought a touch of glittering fever to her eyes and face. Her skin burned, fire warring with the icy blasts of wind that traveled along the river. The edges of the world were blurred and her vision had tunneled. She was drawn away from the immediate agony of her fury and she stood in her own darkness, watched Raphael from afar, as though the angel were still circling the mountaintop, a speck of shadow on the pearly sky.

"Why don't you say something?" Audrey goaded her.

Raphael folded her hands over her waist, her posture unassuming. "I see you can walk without the crutch now," she said evenly.

Audrey exhaled, disgusted. She knew that it took a lot to get a rise out of Raphael, which was actually pretty pathetic, considering how easy it was to trample on the angel. She leaned against her fishing pole for support, the handle digging into the soft silt that lined the bank. "I didn't ask you to come back," she said, a roughness in the back of her throat making her voice strained. She felt as though she had already conceded something to Raphael and she was ashamed.

"What's the matter?" she asked, trying to regain her ground. "You and your husband have another blow-out again?"

Raphael's lips twitched. "No." She paused for a moment, the tip of her tongue showing along her teeth. "We have reconciled."

"Congrats," Audrey grunted. "I guess that's why you decided to throw in the towel with me."

Raphael seemed about ready to smile, which Audrey found obnoxious. "You oversimplify," she said. "And you misunderstand-"

"Not even a good-bye," the girl muttered. She drove her heel into the ground, splattering a little mud on the hem of Raphael's robe. "You sent Uriel to do your dirty work. You got bored of me. Ran back home. It was all just a game, wasn't it? Please, don't try to justify yourself. I feel sick already."

The angel held up her hand. "I never said I was blameless," she admitted.

Audrey threw back her head, her gaze keen and she studied her former protector, searched for the concern and care that had once rested so heavily on Raphael, who now only seemed nonchalant. Indifferent, maybe.

But her eyes were still soulful, as Michael's had been when he pulled up to Paradise Falls, as Gabriel's were when he reached for Charlie's baby. It was a very apt ruse, all plumage and show like the flashy feathers of a peacock. There was little substance, Audrey felt, behind that glassy stare, only a perverse sort of emptiness that seemed more damning than devout.

"I think you're ignorant," she told her. "And I think what I saw in you, what I'm even seeing now, wasn't exactly real. It's like that story you told me, the one I read in the Bible when you went traveling with Tobias, pretending to be his helper, acting like his best friend. But then when it was over, and you showed yourself him, he couldn't recognize you. Because you know what, Raphael, my prick of a religion teacher was right. You're not real. You're only a figment, like light on the water. You can reflect and imitate, but I bet if I reached out to touch you right now, I wouldn't feel anything. It's all fake. And I'm even more pathetic than you…cause I wish it was real."

Raphael blinked and Audrey hoped that she would see a hint of shame in the angel's eyes, but her gaze was clear and she seemed more certain of herself than she ever had before. Audrey was daunted by this new self-assurance. She felt doubtful.

Raphael took a step closer, the soiled hem of her gown grazing the girl's boots. "I'm sorry," she said, "but it wasn't wrong of me to leave you."

The veins in Audrey's neck tightened, her anger rattling around in her, hard to pin down. She searched for it though, tried to use it as a source of strength against Raphael's overwhelming calm. "Then why'd you come back?" she muttered.

Raphael pressed her lips together. "To speak with you," she replied.

At that, Audrey nearly rolled her eyes. There was something so condescending about her tone. She felt patronized and belittled all at once. It reminded Audrey of a similar incident with her father, a fight they had had when she was only eleven and still hurt now six years later. Arguments between her and her mother were not unusual in her home, but Audrey had rarely ever talked back to her dad, who she knew would always take her side, or at least pretend to be neutral. There was one time, however, when she had managed to piss him off enough to stir his rather latent anger. Even now, Audrey wasn't sure what the fight was about, but she remembered storming off to her room, her pillow sticky with tears, as she tried to stomach what seemed like a betrayal from her only ally. The next morning she had found her dad sitting on the porch with his untouched coffee and he had asked if she wanted to talk.

Audrey, of course, had said no.

It was the only way to win a battle, really, even if the victory was pyrrhic. Stubbornness was undeniably satisfying and she decided she wasn't going to give in now…even though she really wanted to.

"Fly on home little birdie," Audrey told Raphael, hoping she sounded bratty. "I'm sure there's nothing you need to say to me, unless you're looking to unload some of your guilt." It was a direct jab. She felt as though she were applying the thumbscrews, but really, her challenge was a private test to see if the angel reacted at all. If she did, then Audrey felt that she might recognize her again and catch a glimpse of familiar beneath her distant, foreign visage. But the figure before her remained a stranger yet, bound to the larger cosmos and not the world of the cozy cabin they had both left behind. Audrey was troubled. She wondered if she really knew Raphael at all.

The angel shifted. "I did not come because of guilt."

"Yeah, right." Audrey half-turned, her elbow grazing Raphael's torso. She stepped closer to the water, only to realize that her lure had snagged on a few leaves by the shoreline. She tugged roughly at the line, the hook trailing through the mud. "You were so quick to unload me, _dump _me. And you couldn't even stick around to give me an excuse. You ran away. Hey, I might've been a little bitch to my parents, but I stayed with my family. But you, you just like to abandon ship, don't you?"

Raphael hovered behind her. "You cannot call it abandonment," she insisted, "I was trying to help you-"

"Whatever you have to tell yourself-"

"You define everything I do in terms of cruelty."

"Maybe I shouldn't make a big deal out of this," Audrey said, bypassing Raphael's tired arguments with a lifted brow and a casual shrug. "You told me up front what this was about. You said I was only a little project to keep you busy while you were starving Gabriel out. I knew that from the first day, so I guess I have no right to be ticked off." She paused and fully turned her back to Raphael, the rod steady in her hand. Audrey tried to reel the line in from the sloppy mess of leaves. Her bait, she noted, was no longer on the hook. She should have taken the bucket with her down to the river. Why didn't she ever think…

Raphael suddenly shouldered her way close to the girl, the tips of her feathers just grazing Audrey's coat and making her gasp. Even through her sleeve she felt the friction and was appropriately cowed. The angel was being insistent in a way she never had before and it was almost...scary.

"Is this what I left behind?" she asked, her tone probing. "Such discontent. Such malcontent. I thought I gave you more, Audrey. I thought you might know better."

A hard lump settled in her throat, but instead of swallowing it away, she choked on it. "Fuck you," Audrey spat.

There was a quiet stirring in Raphael's countenance, a flicker of what could possibly have been anger, although it what only a pale glimmer compared to the fury Audrey had witnessed in Michael and Gabriel. She ran her tongue along the back of her teeth, tasting blood again. Perhaps she had gone too far. Perhaps she had shaken loose some willful intemperance, disturbed a place in Raphael that was treacherous…and dangerous.

And perhaps she had finally lost the only ally she had ever had.

Audrey began to sweat in her heavy coat. She felt filthy and she despised ever atom of her corrupted flesh, which was surely unlovable.

_It's better if I find out now_, she thought. _It has to be better to know then to always wonder._

The color had drained from Raphael's face. She was like a rock worn smooth, a stone eroded and cracking. Convulsively, she clenched her hands over her stomach, her knuckles like white marbles beneath her skin.

"You make such demands of me," Raphael said. There was acid in her tone.

Audrey touched her cheeks, feeling the sting. It was the first time she had ever heard her raise her voice. She shivered a little, still wary of angelic rage, which brought with it an unforgiving reckoning, which had come crashing through a diner door, all spiked metal and holy wrath.

She took a step back, her heel crushing the loose coils of her fishing line. "I didn't ask you for anything." But then she stopped, remembering that pathetic moment on the cabin porch, when she had reached out into the unfathomable and found something waiting for her on the other side.

_Raphael, I wish you were my mom…_

"God," Audrey muttered. She dropped her hands and let her arms swing by her sides, the tip of the fishing pole making serpentine patterns in the soil. An old wound was unearthed and she felt much as she had that fateful night, when she was lying on the blacktop with her life seeping away into the tar. But the grief was more profound now, when she realized what she had lost.

_I was never mad at her_, Audrey thought, looking at the angel who at once seemed so human. _I just wanted her for myself._

"Raphael," she began, but stopped herself. It seemed too terrible to ask. And it seemed unfair, knowing that she would probably be denied. Audrey was filled with unrepentant disappointment, a regret that nearly made her cry.

Raphael lifted her gaze. Her fury was tempered and she had regained her natural softness, the face that went with her healer's hands. She spoke in dulcet tones. "It is in your nature to seek, but not mine," she said vaguely.

Audrey hated her ambiguity. She took a deep breath and was surprised when her lungs constricted against a sob. "Did you want to be my mother?" she asked.

Raphael swallowed. Her hands were pressed tight to her stomach now. She shook her head once. "Please, Audrey."

Audrey's calves began to throb. She felt as if the world had opened up before her, her blindness giving way, like Saul when he became Paul on the road to Damascus.

"You came back for me," Audrey said. She was surprised when her lips curved in an eager smile. "You came back to-"

Raphael flinched. "Poor child," she moaned.

Her pity stung Audrey. It was an insinuation of remorse and it filled her with a hollow coldness more deep than the clear, cutting mountain air around them.

"You lost me," she muttered. "I don't get it. Why would you come back if you weren't going to…if you wouldn't…I can't believe you'd leave me all alone here again." Instinctively, she took a step forward. She drew closer to the angel, provoked by an endless yearning. Audrey reached out, a child again. She reached out and tried to touch her mother.

Raphael didn't move, but she was leaning forward, compelled by that same instinct. "Audrey, I'm not going to be your mother," she said in a rush. Her words clouded the air between them.

"Why not?" Audrey asked. There was a rushing noise in her head. The whispering river echoed through her mind. "Why can't you be my mother?"

"There is no answer I can give-"

"Is it because of Gabriel?"

"No."

"Did God say you can't?"

"No." Raphael shook her wings to get Audrey's attention. She appeared thoroughly ill at ease, her feathers ruffled. "You have a mother," the angel said. She paused, and then added. "A mother who loves you very much."

"I don't care!" Audrey stamped her foot. "I know my mom and I sure as hell know that she wouldn't mind having someone take care of me because she can't."

The wind rushed through the trees and it smelled of crisp pine. Raphael wrinkled her nose. She was blinking, her eyes unfocused as she looked over Audrey's head at the river. "It would be unfair of me to-"

"So what?" the girl replied, throwing up her shoulders in a shrug. "Life is unfair."

"Yes," Raphael agreed for once. "And it is also about sacrifice."

"Don't give me this religious bullcrap."

"Audrey." Raphael seemed to have reached her breaking point. She took one quick step forward, her hands falling from her stomach, balled into trembling fists. "I was not meant to be a mother. I was not meant to be _your_ mother."

"But can't you at least try?"

"No."

Audrey's mouth fell open. "Don' tell me," she said, cutting her off before she could explain. "It's you…you really don't want to…"

"No!" Raphael's denial was a bit belated, convincing Audrey once and for all that she was right. In an instant, all the angel's uncertainty and bewilderment seemed to find its place. She understood Raphael's hesitance, her obscure confusion which was at once so strange…and so terribly appropriate.

"I can't believe this," she whimpered.

"Listen to me," Raphael begged.

But Audrey shook her head, moving back towards the lake, her boots crunching over pebbles and her hopelessly tangled fishing line. The ground was wet here, the air stinking of decayed leaves and the river. Audrey remembered the golf course and the lake. She remembered how the water had felt in her lungs, a black, suffocating weight. She remembered how it felt when she was thrown from the police car and laid out broken on the asphalt. The pain paled in comparison to what she felt now.

It was a very primal agony that had driven its roots into her subconscious, into a longing she hadn't been brave enough to acknowledge. Everyone had a mother, that Audrey knew. It was the most basic right, a privilege that she had perhaps taken for granted. She realized then that she had never truly considered the loss of her parents, because Raphael had always been there to fill the void. She was a child yet, she felt, substituting one soft comfort in exchange for another. She had found repose in a foreign place, in the form of a lying dream that she had given wings and benign face to. But even when she had doubted, Audrey had still maintained a quiet hope that she was not alone, that Raphael, who was everything she had wanted in her life, also needed to be fulfilled.

Love had fooled her. She had been a grasping child, that lonely foundling abandoned on a dark night and abandoned again.

Audrey collapsed. She felt the God-given strength leave her body and the ground came up beneath her, stones biting into her knees as she dropped her fishing pole. Her hands were flat on the earth and it was frozen, a sticky, slick cold that got into her skin and put ice into her marrow.

"You shouldn't have," she panted. Her tone was surprisingly steady, a denouncement of what remained of her faith. "You shouldn't have pretended."

Raphael leaned down and touched her fingertips to her hair.

"Just go," Audrey said. She pushed herself up, knocked Raphael's hand off her head until she was standing tall again, with mud splattered on her already dirty pants and her fingernails gritty with soil. "I don't want you in my life anymore." She forced her eyes up to the angel, offering a rejection of her own, her final revenge against the hurt that had been visited upon her.

The effect was satisfying in a miserable sort of way. Raphael lurched forward and seemed posed to embrace Audrey, a certain wildness shaping her features and undoing her careful reserve that had long been in place.

"Wait," she said, perilously close to begging.

Audrey stood still. She raised a brow. "What if I don't want you?" she said.

Raphael lowered her hand. She was a picture of defeat. Her celestial grace was soured by a disappointment that mirrored Audrey's. It was a new sickness, something that had laid its pall between them and would not be lifted.

She did not bid her child good-bye when she left, but darted off into the sky, a vision grey wings that soon disappeared into the murky clouds way up high by the mountains. Raphael was gone before Audrey could blink. With a stubborn frown, the girl sat on the ground and began to untangle her fishing line. She did not cry.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Once again, Audrey proves herself more sensible than Raphael. She certainly is very perceptive for her age. ;)

Thanks for reading! In chapter twenty-three, Michael, Gabriel and Uriel push Raphael to embrace the impossible. Audrey's life amongst the refugees grows more precarious as the camp is threatened by an unforeseen danger. With any luck, I should have the next installment posted in about two weeks. Take care and be well, everyone!


	23. Chapter Twenty Three Fairy Tale

**Author's Note: **Ugh. Sorry this chapter took so long! I had to have surgery (nothing major) and I was too zonked to muster the energy to write anything for a while. Nevertheless, I do apologize for the delay. I hope all the Uriel/Audrey goodness in this chapter will make up for my tardiness. ;)

Before we begin, I would just like to thank my awesome readers and **saichick**, who reviewed. I do hope you enjoy this installment!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Twenty-Three Fairy-Tale **

Audrey spent an hour crouched by the river trying to untangle her fishing line. She liked working with her hands and the tricky job gave her an excuse to direct muttered curses at nearly everyone and everything in her life. Raphael, of course, received the brunt of her rage, although Audrey still couldn't bring herself to profane the angel too much. It felt like blasphemy to deride an archangel. As she picked muddy leaves off the hook, the cold gnawing at her bare fingers with needle teeth, she wondered if she was starting to get superstitious. Or maybe she had held onto a tiny seed of faith, which meant she was even more pathetic than she ever thought she could be.

"Don't drink the Kool Aid," Audrey murmured. She sniffled, but not because she was crying. The chill had made her nose start to run and with no one looking, she resorted to wiping it on her sleeve. The water by the shoreline was brackish, flakes of dirt and silt coloring the surface all the way down to the shallow bottom. Audrey couldn't see her reflection in the river and for that she was glad. She didn't like what she had become. She didn't like what nature had turned her into.

Mud slicked the length of the fishing line and her knuckles began to cramp. She had long lost all feeling in her fingers.

"Fuck," she panted, tossing the whole mess to the ground. The line curled around the polished pebbles like a silver chain to string imperfect pearls together. Audrey's boots were wet and she had gritty sand under her nails. The creases of her palms were greased with sludge.

_I'm done_, she thought with a dismissive toss her head, her hood slapping against the back of her coat. _I'm _so_ done_.

But even as she climbed to her feet, her knees creaking like an old lady's, Audrey found herself battling with a desperate truth, a reality that left her with just a little less heart and almost no hope.

Somehow, she felt that she was to blame. Snow White had taken a bite of the witch's apple without knowing what was inside. But Audrey, she had seen the poison and decided to nibble on it anyway. Misery wasn't selective. It would find a home with anyone who claimed it. And Audrey had been more than welcoming. She had gone looking for it.

_What if I can't blame Raphael this time?_

She sniffed again. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes stinging as the wind whipped down the river and sent tiny waves rippling out towards the shore. She shouldered her fishing pole like a rifle and headed back up the path to the campgrounds, a weary soldier trudging away from yet another battlefield. The day, which had promised to be clear, had only turned out a milky white sky. Audrey was disappointed as she stumbled up the trail, dried pine needles sticking to her boots. She was reminded of those corny horror movies she used to watch, the ones where zombies took over the world or someone set off a nuclear bomb and turned the earth into a pile of ash and rid the sky of its stars. It was another one of those childhood fantasies. Make-believe. Life never turned out that way in the end. Someone always got away and lived happily ever after. Snow White and her prince.

The lean muscles in her calves bunched as she scrambled over a log. There was a piece of her, a small, howling place of despair that wished she had been left alone to die on the road, another wasted life sacrificed to the faceless Mojave night. It would have been a pointless death. Lonely. But it was also a definitive end. Audrey was impatient with life already. She had gotten tired of counting her blessings. And there was another part of her, a hopeful, dreaming part that wondered if she might be able to see Raphael again…if she died.

The wind rose and it was harder now for her to control her sniffling. She stopped for a second to adjust the weight of the fishing pole on her shoulder, her eyelids sticky and hot. She blinked once, twice. When she opened her eyes again, the world was vision of running ink, her tears splashing down onto the canvas, smudging the colors, ruining God's masterpiece.

Audrey stiffened. She hated herself in that moment. She absolutely hated herself…

"Are you sad, little one?"

Her anger seethed close to the surface and Audrey was quick to the draw. She whirled around, teeth gnashing, perfectly rabid in her rage. "Back for round two?" she spat, her fishing pole clattering to the ground near her feet.

Uriel sat perched on a bare tree branch overhead. Audrey's mouth popped open. She had been expecting Raphael…

"Oh my God," she panted. Her heart slammed against her ribcage. She tried to take a deep breath, but her lungs only pushed the air out.

Uriel jerked his head to the side, a patient smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Did I frighten you?" he asked.

Audrey thought that was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. She laughed out loud, her voice guttering in her raw throat. Uriel's smooth cheeks were touched with a peachy blush. His golden halo of hair was flattened by the wind. She honestly couldn't picture a less frightening sight…but she wouldn't tell _him_ that.

"Are you coming down?" she asked, leaning on the scaly trunk of the tree. It seemed so much better than asking what the hell he was doing up there.

Effortlessly and with a grace she envied, Uriel pushed himself to his feet. Although it was a good ten feet from the tree limb to the ground, he jumped the distance without using his wings to slow his descent. Audrey thought she might have felt the earth shake beneath her. She stood back and listened to her chaotic pulse, trying to remember the three-part breathing her yoga instructor had once taught her.

"Raphael seems very incompetent these days," Uriel noted. His pale lips puckered in a frown. "I pity her."

Audrey ignored the stab of pain in her abdomen. She settled her grimy hand over her stomach, wishing she hadn't been gross enough to wipe her nose on her sleeve. Uriel looked pristine, her angelic angel who could have been perched on top of a Christmas tree or drifting over a nativity scene. She turned her head to side so that he wouldn't see the pimples on her left temple.

"Were you spying on us?" she asked, "cause I never pegged you for a voyeur." It was hard to keep her voice light when so many terrible things had been said. The image of Raphael's disappointed visage was a fresh nightmare and Audrey struggled with it. Forgetfulness was a slow poison and she knew it would take her a long time to get that particularly tragic vision out of her mind.

Uriel's eye crinkled at the corner. He almost seemed to be winking at her. "Not spying," he said. "Only listening. You have been praying to me an awful lot lately, you realize."

"Oh," Audrey muttered. She was breathless again. The cramps in her calves were worsening without the support of her crutch. Improvising, she picked up her fallen fishing pole and leaned on it, the end of the rod making a circular puncture hole in the spongy earth. "It's weird," she said, "all the time I was talking to you I hoped you might be listening. Now I'm kinda embarrassed. Do you think I'm a nut?"

Uriel's laugh was low and whistling, as though he were hissing through his teeth. "Of course not," he replied. "Your prayers were very meaningful." He paused. "I am glad you are not angry with me for leaving you behind."

Audrey was surprised to see uncertainty flicker in Uriel's countenance. His insecurity undercut his natural eloquence and he seemed awkward, that nervous, fidgety angel who looked at her with owl eyes. She grinned, a trickle of warmth sliding down her cheek. She wasn't exactly sure why she was crying, but she wanted Uriel to think that her tears were for him.

"It's awesome that you came back," she admitted. Audrey stopped short of telling him just how much she needed him in that moment. A part of her assumed that he already knew. Angels seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to things like that. Well, Uriel did, at least.

"I fear I'm a little late," he said. He flicked the tips of his wings, dropping his chin in an apologetic pout.

Audrey felt encouraged by his sympathy. Uriel's genuine concern was the greatest comfort. She tucked her hands inside her pockets, the folds of her oversized coat cocoon-like, the lining thick with fleece.

"What was the point of it all?" she asked him with a helpless shrug. "Why would Raphael come to see me like that and then just…" She trailed off, hoping that Uriel would pick up the slack. Audrey realized she was back to giving Raphael the benefit of the doubt. She stopped herself, hardened her heart and her resolve.

Uriel's eyebrows jumped together. For a minute, his bewilderment reminded Audrey of Raphael. She wondered why she hadn't noticed it before. Uriel seemed like a reflection of the others, although he wasn't quite so obviously flawed.

_He's the best of them_, Audrey told herself. Maybe that made him their better.

Uriel shifted his weight. His boots made deep, blocky imprints in the soil. "Raphael is confused," he said.

Audrey growled. "Don't make excuses for her. She's _always_ confused."

"Granted." Uriel grimaced. "Perhaps I am more patient with her deficiencies. But I know she's made a mistake."

Audrey didn't know what to say to that. Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth as she wrestled with her treacherous conscience. She wasn't sure what was worse, hating Raphael or feeling the resulting guilt. "If you're asking me to forgive and forget and all that crap, I'm really not up to it," she said, her jaw tight as she ground out the words through clenched teeth. "The way I see it, she owes me. Big time. You can't just pretend to be-"

"Who ever said that she was pretending?" Uriel interjected. His mannerisms were so mild that Audrey didn't even mind being interrupted.

"I liked it better when you were neutral," she said. The fishing pole was beginning to creak under her weight and gingerly, she moved her hips. She was sore and stiff, her joints responding only reluctantly when she tried to ease the pain away by moving. "Why do you have to take her side?" she groaned.

Uriel blinked. "You could use a little neutrality yourself," he said in an irritatingly nasal tone. "You've let your wounds harden you too much."

"Yeah, well, can you blame me?" Audrey spat back.

Uriel lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug, the crook of his wing casting a rounded shadow over the dried brush and bramble. "I suppose it won't do any good if I tell you not to be angry…or sad."

Audrey sighed. "You're asking a lot of me," she said. "Remember, I'm only human, after all. Not a _saint_."

Uriel blushed. He did that often, she noted, although she did not know what he could be ashamed of. Uriel was all ivory and gold, his proportions and bearing reminding her of those statues the Greeks had carved to adorn their temples. As they stood close together, Audrey felt the precise sting of her own inadequacy. It reminded her of the time her mom had spilled a bottle of red wine on the living room carpet, which was a very particular shade of sea foam grey. And try as she might, with club soda and steam cleaners and a weekend's worth of elbow grease, her mother couldn't clean up the mess. It remained, more of a scar than a stain. Audrey thought the same must be true of her soul. When Uriel looked at her, he probably saw the stain inside of her that was more like a scar. And why was it that scars were always numb to the touch?

Audrey hissed, denied the luxury of unfeeling apathy. The cramp had worked its way up to her thigh and she braced her fingers against the bunched muscle, squeezing as hard as she could.

Uriel made a soft noise in the back of his throat, the turtledove cooing in concern. "You've misplaced the crutch I made for you," he said, his tone edged with surprising fallibility. He was hurt.

Audrey straightened. "Hell no," she muttered. "Of course I still have it…just not with me, it's back at the camp…dammit…"

She had taken her weight off her left leg and just as she changed position, her right knee buckled. The fishing pole wasn't nearly strong enough to keep her standing. She teetered over onto her side.

Uriel didn't bother to catch her. Instead, he stood over Audrey with a puckish grin. The clouds of worry were gone from his eyes and in them, she could see the sun as it must shine in Eden. He did have the decency, at least, to lift her to feet, picking the slimy leaves from her hair with his quick, nimble fingers. To her credit, Audrey only shivered once when she felt his thumb graze the exposed flesh by her collar.

"I will not scold you for being careless about your crutch," he said, "because I feel very sorry for you."

"I'm not really into pity," Audrey grumbled.

"Not pity," Uriel corrected. "Affection."

Audrey blinked. She had not expected that. Staring at Uriel, she observed a new looseness about him, a fluidity that was almost musical. "You're different," she said. "Back at the cabin, I don't ever remember you being this, er…" She paused, searching for the word. "Gregarious," she said at length.

She was sure she had mispronounced it, but Uriel made nothing of it. "We've gotten to know each other a bit better, haven't we?" he replied. He dusted off the back of her coat with a sound pat. "All those prayers count for something."

"Sorry I doubted you," Audrey said lamely.

Uriel's cheeks puffed out, as if he were sucking in a deep breath before going underwater. "That is appreciated," he said, "but I'd much rather you forgive Raphael. She needs your mercy."

The veins in Audrey's neck tightened. "She needs a helluva lot more than that."

Uriel moved his head to the side and although he looked cowed, she was not convinced.

"Poor little girl," he said, "lost alone in the big wide woods."

"It's a sucky fairy-tale, I'll admit." Audrey threw her head back, her hood slipping as she looked at the hectic jumble of branches overhead. Even if the sun pushed through the clouds, she doubted that much light would make it to the forest floor, which was sticky with leaves and needles and crushed pinecones.

_You're a long way from home_, she told herself, even though she wasn't quite sure where home was these days.

Uriel's sixth sense must have perked up, because he wrapped his thinly muscled arm around her shoulder in a half-embrace that still managed to be wholehearted. "Can I walk you back to your camp?" he said, his dimples showing

"Prince Charming," Audrey mumbled out of the corner of her mouth. Her face was hard, the picture of stubborn youth, but she secretly delighted in his company. He was the rather clichéd promise of spring in winter, the first timid green bud on the blackened branch, the gust of air that brought tantalizing warmth, not frost.

Without being asked to, Uriel snatched up her fishing pole and tucked it under his free arm, the handle of the rod sticking out between his wings like a puppy's tail. Audrey couldn't help it, she chuckled and the unexpected volley of laughter that followed scared at least one bird from its perch. But there were tears on her face also, hot like blood, tiny droplets no bigger than the petals of a lilac. Uriel pretended to look the other way as she scrubbed at her face, although he did keep his arm around her shoulders. Audrey tried to tell herself that he was only being affectionate, that she didn't need his support to stand and walk. Her independence, though painful, was not a blessing she would never trade…not even for a mother's love.

It was difficult for them to walk abreast on the narrow trail, the tops of Uriel's wings snagging the lowest branches of the trees. Pine needles rained down on them in a scented shower. Audrey thought of Christmas trees, but this forest was more alive than some poor evergreen her parents grudgingly stuffed into the corner of their den every December. And Uriel, he was so much more ideal than the ceramic angel that went with her grandmother's antique nativity, a rival even to fantasy, which seemed stilted when compared with this pleasant reality.

Through her coat, Audrey could feel the smooth, delicious friction of her sleeve as it rubbed against his cuirass. Her lips wobbled, halfway between crying and laughing again. She wondered if Uriel knew that she adored him.

"Why'd you come back?" she asked, curiosity killing her happiness. She was afraid that he would say that Raphael had sent him, that he was only an intermediary, some bureaucrat assigned to clean up Heaven's unsightly mess.

Uriel seemed suddenly aloof, his eyes narrowing into slits. "I have not dealt so much with humans," he said. "The others must think I am quite artless."

"Compared to Raphael, Gabriel and Michael, you're a genius," Audrey replied, hoping to encourage him. She raised her elbow and poked at his flank.

Uriel blushed. "You underestimate Raphael," he said. "_Again_."

"Is this really all about her?" Audrey asked. The fleeting sense of peace she had reveled in was slipping away like water through her fingers, drip by drip by drip.

Uriel shook his head. "It's about you, Audrey," he replied. And he looked down at her with such open admiration, his expression so unlike the righteous glance of the archangel, who sat in glory and saw all of mankind's sins and hers especially. "You are Raphael's masterpiece," Uriel said. "She made you so beautiful."

Audrey almost pulled away from him. Her shame was comfortable, something she had learned to live with, a second skin that fit her remarkably well. Instinctively, she knew that Uriel wasn't talking about outer beauty. He was looking inside and what he found there was radiant.

"Yeah right," Audrey muttered. Her fresh was crawling, teased not by the cold, but an invading warmth that seemed to come from the absent sun or maybe from _him_. It was a gracious gift from Heaven, not that she wanted it, not that she could ever accept anything from Raphael…

But Uriel was still smiling at her, the deep wisdom in his eyes promising something more than shallow affection. He respected her. And he was looking to her, finding grace not in the celestial, but in her very human soul.

Audrey's fingertips tingled as heat rushed into her hands. Her knuckles cracked when she tried to move them, like ice thawing and she groaned. Trust was not a common trait, not a favor she would willingly extend to Uriel, even though he presented himself with all the gentleness of a spring lamb. It had taken her long enough to break free from Raphael. She had been forced to forfeit her pound of flesh and color the river red with her blood. And now Uriel was tempting her with a new tragedy. He was promising that breathless, bewildering thrill, that almost perverse high that came with associating with angels and their unfair, unjust beliefs. Audrey knew, that in all likelihood, she would be hurt again, although this time, she had willingly chosen her poison.

She glanced at Uriel, silently pleading for his mercy. But his eyes had that far away look, the gaze of one who was acquainted with the boundaries of the universe, where even the stars were scarce.

"They call Raphael the Healer," he said, his tone tender. "But I always perceived her skill to be less obvious. Less crude, if you will. There is an art to it, I am sure, but also a recognition of the soul as it exists in each human being. It goes beyond bone and blood. It works in the pitted recesses of man's depravity and mends the silent aches, the pains we carry but cannot always feel but for our ignorance. You were ignorant, Audrey and your faith was lacking. Raphael made whole your spirit. She birthed you, as any mother would, and brought you into the world. That is a rare blessing indeed and I have found hope in her miracle. I've watched you grow." He paused, the dimples on either side of his mouth disappearing as even he seemed to lose himself, seemed to falter and fall. "Do you think I am selfish, Audrey?" Uriel asked with a terrible urgency. "Do you think it was wrong for me to come back because I wanted to be close to what you have become…and because I couldn't stand to see Raphael destroy what she had so lovingly wrought?"

She froze, her feet pulled into the ground like the gnarled roots of the towering trees. Uriel's breath had clouded the air, his words manifesting themselves in the physical reality around them. And Audrey was swept up in this new dream, into the emerald overtones and gauzy grey sky and Uriel, who had reminded her of just who she was.

Her fingers grazed the zipper of her coat, somewhere near her breastbone. It was strange, Audrey thought, entranced by the wild cascade of wonder within her, the great rush of sublime freedom and immortality. It was strange that she had never felt her soul before.

_Home_, she intoned, the idea resounding in her mind with a soothing certainty. Her heart, which she had never known to be out of place, resumed its natural tattoo and she was lulled by the rhythm, by each beat and breath in her body, which were not new, but only unknown.

"Do you mean that?" she asked him numbly. "Do you mean what you said about me?"

His shyness returned, a bit of red coloring his cheekbones and forehead. "I am careful in my speech," Uriel said. He hesitated. "Why do you doubt yourself?"

Audrey felt herself falling away, lost. She groped about blindly from some truth, a half-truth that could restore her. "Raphael," she said, the name a plea born from her own childish petulance.

For the first time, Uriel seemed disappointed in her. But he kept her close. Audrey felt his fingers on her upper arm and she wanted so desperately to press her cheek to his chest. She wondered if he knew that his affection was returned, that they stood equally on ground that was sure, their hearts support by a mutuality that had grown from instinct and maybe something more…

"Do not blame Raphael," Uriel said. His tone wasn't even close to chiding although Audrey felt chastised.

"Okay," she replied. Her mind didn't necessarily agree, but she was still human. And yet, Audrey thought she could live with her flaws. She could live with her own particular beauty that had been given to her by the angels and was now loved by them.

Audrey smiled. She knew she couldn't thank Uriel for what he had shown her. She was adrift in coveted serenity, a fairy-tale realized, Snow White stirred from the grave by a single kiss.

"You know," Audrey said as they walked along, their bodies colliding with each slow step, "I think I was right about you. From day one, I was definitely right."

Uriel's attention was piqued. "Oh?" he said, a questioning tilt to his head.

Audrey sighed. "Prince Charming," she announced. "That's what you are."

This time, the angel did not blush. Instead, he paused and stepped in front of her, blocking the mouth of the trail and her first view of the camp. A few faint lines crossed his forehead and he seemed unusually grave, as if he were on the verge of apologizing for some imagined sin.

"I don't want you to blame Raphael," Uriel repeated, "but that doesn't mean I feel she _is_ blameless."

Audrey felt suddenly embarrassed. "I didn't want to turn you against your family," she said.

Uriel's nose twitched. He was trying valiantly to smile, but a secret sadness dampened his efforts. "Perhaps I can be part of your family," he said.

A very private thrill raced through Audrey. It was almost, she realized, as though he were asking her for permission.

"Sure," she said breathlessly. "I mean, yes! Yes!"

Her enthusiasm must've tickled his delight, for she managed to get a smile out of him. "I'm glad," he said, handing her back the fishing pole. "It cost me more than a little heartache when I left you here last time."

Audrey squirmed when he bent forward and kissed her, chastely, on the top of her head. She knew it would be wrong to ask him to stay a little longer and she forced herself to be content with him as he was, a blessing that she couldn't demand, but was hers nonetheless.

The canopy of tree branches parted when Uriel climbed into the sky, one thrust of his powerful wings sending another rainfall of needles down onto her. Audrey shook her head, the splinters of green sticking to her cheeks and decorating her drab coat. It was like a picture in one of her old storybooks, the ones her mother used to read before bedtime, when Audrey thought being a princess was still possible and out there, waiting for her, was Prince Charming.

Audrey blinked away her tears. It was like a wish come true. Or maybe a miracle…

She tucked the fishing pole under her arm and headed off to the end of the trail. There was an undeniable spring in her step. She ignored the pain in her knees and strode forward, her boots crunching satisfyingly over the dried leaves and twigs that tried to snag at her baggy pants. By the end of the path, where the tree line met the open valley and the campsite sprawled out in the wide well of muddy earth, Audrey's nose was tickled by smoke. Hank was usually very careful about fires and she couldn't imagine any of the campers daring to set a blaze so close to the trees. When she got closer to the mouth of the trail and the thick branches cleared, she spotted Mari leaning against the grimy side of an RV. She had one foot planted on the tire and a cigarette stuck between her lips. The girl looked only slightly guilty when she saw Audrey emerging from the woods, but she did not dare to stub her smoke out.

"All right," Mari said, in a puff of tar and nicotine. "I admit it, I've been holding out on you." She produced a crumpled pack from the pocket of her flannel shirt and showed them to Audrey. "How bout a peace offering? You won't tell Hank, right?"

Audrey wasn't a big smoker, but she enjoyed the offer to socialize. She accepted a cigarette and leaned forward so that Mari could put a little wick of flame to the tip. The girl's wrist snapped expertly as she stroked her lighter and soon the air was wreathed with a crisp incense that made Audrey's eyes water.

"No fish?" Mari asked, pointing at her pole.

Audrey put her back to the R.V. and inhaled. "Nope."

"Where you been then?"

She studied the cinders on the end of her cigarette, the fickle glow of fire as it chewed up the tobacco and paper casing alike. "With a prince," she replied.

Mari sighed in annoyance. "Whatever."

The girls smoked together in peace for a few minutes, two teenagers again, until they heard Hank's pick-up roar dangerously close to their R.V.

"Shit," Audrey mumbled, but Mari knew what to do.

She took their smoldering butts and flicked them into the forest. The smoke, however, remained.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Okay, I'll admit it. This chapter turned out quite different than I originally planned, though I guess Audrey deserved some reassurance and happiness after all the heartache Raphael caused her.

Thanks so much for reading! In the next chapter, Raphael, Gabriel and Michael heal their quarrel. Uriel, however, throws a monkey wrench into their plans as he takes up Audrey's case. Only three more chapters left, ah! I can't believe this story is almost over.

I'll try my best to have chapter twenty-four posted in two weeks. If you have the chance, please leave me a quick review. Feedback always makes my day. Take care and be well, everyone! And Happy Easter to those who celebrate!


	24. Chapter Twenty Four Missing

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the delayed update, everyone! I've been having some health problems lately and have been quite unable to find the energy (or the necessary creativity) to write.

As always, I have to thank my fabulous readers and reviewers, **saichick, Snevilly **and **ofThornsandRedPetals09**. Thanks so much, you guys! Your reviews made me unbelievably happy. I do hope you enjoy this installment.

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Twenty-Four Missing **

Raphael couldn't decide whether she was angry or not. Despite her predictably placid temperament, she still had enough angelic arrogance about her to be offended by Audrey's rejection. She glided aimlessly over the lowest mountain peaks where forest was at its thickest and the slopes had yet to turn rocky. Apathy had made her lethargic. Her shoulders stiffened with each measured thrust of her wings, sending signals of weariness through her torso and back. The wind got in-between her feathers and left her chilled. The earth was no longer a gracious host and Raphael knew when she was unwelcome. And unwanted.

_The feeling is mutual, _the angel thought as she glided closer to the fringed tree-tops. For not the first time, she wondered why she had ever been drawn to help Audrey and why she had been luckless enough to fail.

The trees grazed the hem of her robe and Raphael turned her head to the side to avoid the ticklish touch on her face. The sun above was only a splotch of faded yellow and the patches of blue visible between the clouds suggested more of a hazy marble than a true cerulean. The daylight had proved itself to be timid. It was the pathetic fallacy at its best.

Raphael's wings lurched, the joints locking and she fell below the tree-line, shadowed by the evergreen canopy that lay like lace against the backdrop of the sky. The temptation to return to Audrey and the crude refugee camp registered as only a dull throb in her chest. For that, Raphael was glad. She had discovered a surprising wellspring of peace in her disinterest in the girl's fate, although her indifference bordered close to denial. Briefly, she wondered if she had indeed been broken, if Audrey's rejection had somehow managed to corrupt her resilience. But Raphael was not that naïve. Her heart had been created to weather loss with the faintest disquiet. There was a method, she knew, a natural talent for separating herself from the world. And it came easily to angels, who were nothing if not callous. It came easily to her, who knew that ignorance was better than losing one's faith entirely.

Raphael let the weight of gravity work its art and she descended, landing in an open glade not far from the slopes. A good number of the trees had been sawed down to stumps and there were deep tire tracks in the soil, scars on the earth where the rain had gathered in puddles, soothing the abused earth with heaven-sent tears. Raphael took one look around and wrinkled her nose in disgust. She was ashamed for men and their cruelty, which had been perfected over centuries of disobedience and disregard for God's love. She paused by one of the tree stumps and pressed the flat of her palm against the ringed top.

"Beyond hope," Raphael muttered, the healing grace of her touch not enough to restore the necessary balance to the world around her. She rubbed her arms briskly, experiencing, a chill that told her she was a pilgrim in a hostile land. Earth had come to despise Heaven. Raphael wasn't certain if the hate was justified or not. Only her Father knew.

Fatigue drained her and she longed for the perfumed felicity of her home, where it had been easy to forget for a time and she had missed Audrey only a little. The sharp edges of the living world were too penetrating for her tender soul and in the broken trees and muddied ground and empty sky she felt the full force of the girl's rejection. It was complete and unquestioning. Raphael didn't know if she should blame the Audrey for her malice. She didn't know if she should hate her.

Only her Father knew.

This was the first time, Raphael realized, that she had failed. The pain was exquisite, but not nearly as pervasive as her devouring shame. And there was no apology she could offer, no penance. She was alone…

"Not alone." His voice was in her ear, stirring the scattered bits of her soul and body that still resonated with life-giving light.

Raphael turned and saw her husband. He had been waiting for her, ever patient. There were pine needles in his hair and threads of sap on his pauldrons. His lips twitched convulsively, a sign of uncertainty that radiated with endearing vulnerability.

Raphael uttered a small cry, overtaken by an emotion that was deeper than words and mere expression.

"I hope you are not angry with me," Gabriel said. "If you are, I will admit that I deserve it."

Raphael stood still. Her apathy was dispelled, but she had been left with trepidation. She wondered if Gabriel could see how greatly her pride had been wounded. She wondered if he saw all her damaging flaws. She wondered if she was just as beautiful to him now as she had once been and if he could love her despite her ineptitude, despite her inability to make any meager difference in the lives of those around her.

Only her Father, perhaps, truly knew.

"I am not angry," Raphael replied at length. She didn't dare attempt to unravel her confusion. Ignorance, occasionally, was preferred to clarity. For once, Raphael envied Tobit in his blindness. She had no need of a fish's gallbladder to make her see.

Gabriel advanced, the edge of his wide belt touching her hip. He seemed about to curl his arm around her waist, but hesitated. The space between them was unusual and Raphael knew that he was aching.

Gabriel swallowed, his collar bobbing. "Audrey?" he asked.

Raphael winced. "Don't."

"I can be tactless," Gabriel admitted.

"Not necessarily," she replied. Raphael looked at her feet. "_I_ can be misguided."

Gabriel's brow furrowed. He finally did touch her, his fingers folding over her slim wrist. "I am sure she did not mean to send you away."

Raphael had to laugh at that. She felt as though her grin would split the corners of her mouth, the weight of irony enough to smother the last of her optimism. "Gabriel, you cannot deny Audrey her intelligence…nor her cruelty. The girl knew exactly what she was saying to me. And I can only react with disappointment…and petulance. A very sorry example I make for angels, don't you think?"

Gabriel frowned, his thumb grazing her cheekbone. "Is it so very painful for you to lose her?"

For a moment, Raphael was caught off guard. After so many years of marriage she had expected her husband to know her better and yet there was the distinct possibility that they had hidden things from each other, parts of themselves that were private enough to be unknown even to them. In any case, she could not scold his ignorance. She wouldn't try to make Gabriel understand. After all, he had never been meant to be a father.

"I can bear it," she replied. But her voice was thin and reedy, her lie slipping out through her teeth like a weak hiss.

Gabriel reacted to her denial with concern. "Do you wish to try again?" he asked.

Raphael wasn't sure of his meaning. She decided that he was alluding to Audrey and his encouragement touched her. There was nothing, she knew, that he wouldn't try to give her.

Even this. Even a child…

"No," Raphael breathed. "I won't try again." She pressed her cheek to his arm, his skin slick with the touch of rain and mist. There was a hint of resurgence about him amongst the felled trees and torn earth, a promise of rebirth which called to the maternal in her. But the pain did not accompany her longing this time, only a whisper of hope and security, a comfort she knew to find in him, that he had guarded while she searched for it.

"I love you," Raphael told him. She wondered when was the last time she had ever properly said it, speaking with her whole heart and soul and not only the lisping words of her numb tongue.

Gabriel kissed the crown of her head. "At last," he said and that was all.

They stood together for a moment, lovers reunited across a divide that fate had devised for them. Raphael herself wasn't foolish enough to see it as a test. Her love for him, after all, had never been in question. But there was the opportunity for growth and renewal and that itself was a gift, a blessing that they had conceived and birthed together.

As if by instinct, Gabriel lowered his hand, his fingers trailing past her breasts and to her abdomen. Raphael smiled.

"It doesn't matter that we are childless," she insisted through her tears. "It doesn't-"

"It should," Gabriel replied. "And it always will."

Raphael trembled, remembering why she was sad. Her grief was a coiled viper, the fork-tongued snake that could poison her with venom and words alike. But she repressed her sorrow, using the will that carried her through the ages and allowed her to be ignorant of suffering, even when it was her own.

"I think," Raphael told him, more for her comfort than for his, "that we can be at peace now."

Gabriel's reaction surprised her. His face sagged under the weight of a disappointed frown. "I wish you would not settle," he said. "You ask so little for yourself and take even less as it is."

Raphael's confusion was a convenient cover for her own uncertainty. She shifted, her hands tucked between her husband's long, thick fingers. "Please," she began, aware that she had somehow been reduced to begging. She pulled away from him, turning her back on the desolate clearing and moving into the elongated shadows that reached to her from the forest.

The air was verdant. Thick with life and Raphael drunk was with the scent. She leaned against a tree, her wings shearing some of the dried bark off the trunk and exposing the weak, moist wood underneath. She could feel Gabriel behind her, his overwhelming presence, which was made to conquer but now came to her as a penitent.

"What can I give you?" he asked. His lips were behind her ear, blowing a few careless strands of her hair along the length of her neck.

She tensed, her muscles readying themselves. Fight or flight. It was all about instinct. About the primal coming to life within her. What if she told him that he alone wasn't enough to secure her happiness? What if she confessed that she had and always would want more?

Gabriel touched her. His palm lay flat in the space between her wings. There was a subtle pressure in his hand, an insistence that he had kept from her. His fingertips played up her back and along the sloping line of her narrow shoulder. He worked the side of his thumb underneath the strap of her gown and teased it from her flesh, lifting it until she could feel the rough skin of his knuckle.

Raphael exhaled. Her head seemed cut off from the rest of her body and she was a mind without a soul, without a heart. For a minute, she was utterly bewildered. _No one is ever worthy of fulfillment_, Raphael thought, _but he still thinks he can give it to me. _

That broke her heart and she wanted to weep for him, he who had been powerless to soothe that wild yearning inside her. For the first time, she considered his own futile desperation as he tried, again and again to soothe her unnatural pain. His frustration reached her now, frantic, frightened even. Guilt tore at her with sharp teeth. Raphael wondered if she could let go of the obsession that had nearly destroyed their marriage and had left her barren, in nearly every sense of the word.

Her lungs constricted. The wind was veiled with a myriad of scents, the musky odor of a forest in sleep, while the frost lingered and hardened in the crevices of dried pine cones. Consciously, she loosened her limbs, her thighs going slack beneath her gown. She leaned against him and let him feel the plump softness of her body, which at times expressed itself as more womanly than angelic.

Gabriel grunted under his breath when she reached back and touched his hip. Her arm grazed his solid stomach and she felt the muscles contract with his hectic breathing. A smile pecked at her mouth.

There was a wonderful sense of security in the moment. She relaxed a little further, her mind pulling away from what she had once perceived to be darkness and despair, but now seemed only like disappointment…and honesty.

Gabriel's lips were cold and they stung her heated flesh, pulling at the skin beneath her earlobe. It was hard for him to reach her through the wide arc of her wings. Raphael pivoted on her feet and as she turned, he was forced to release her from his grip. She could feel the brief brush of his fingers as they grazed the neckline of her robe, moving down to the valley between her breasts. The dance was old, but not stale. Raphael knew the steps, the memories that her body kept of nights under the stars, their bare bodies pale in the shy moonlight. She knew what they had given to each other over the years and now relished in the safety of familiarity. Gabriel was always gentle, after all. Exquisitely gentle.

She took a step away from him, into the tantalizing shadows of the guardian evergreens. There was a space between the roots of one great trees just wide enough for her to recline. Raphael laid herself upon the ground, resting her head against the very foot of the trunk. Clumps of moss broke off the bark and scattered little emerald snowflakes in her hair. She lifted her arms wide and let them rest over the roots. The other strap of her robe had fallen, her exposed belly chilled by the breath of winter. Gabriel dropped to his knees by her legs, cupping each of her small feet in his hands as he carefully removed her sandals. His wings were nearly flush against his back when he stretched over her prone form and she winced as the cold plate of his cuirass touched her collarbone.

It took her only a moment to undo the buckles, her nimble fingers pushing his pauldrons from his shoulders and she remembered, as his armor hit the wet ground with a thud, how awful it had been to see him standing the armory, how awful it had been to see Michael dead on the diner floor…

She closed her eyes to hide her tears.

Gabriel's fingers stroked the well of flesh at the base of her neck and she swallowed against his touch. He kissed the inside of her forearm, his tongue flicking along her wrist. She opened his hand and splayed her fingers over his cheek. There was a sheen of moisture on his brow, rainwater, or perhaps perspiration. Raphael could feel the warmth filling his body as he pressed closer to her. She found that she had to reach deep inside herself to retrieve her own warmth, the heat of their passion, which had never been dull or lacking.

And yet she only wanted to cry. She only wanted to tell him that things would never be the same again and that she was frightened. That was all she ever had been, so very frightened, so terrified that the life she had given herself and given them was just a lie. Because it was, wasn't it? Audrey had shown her that. Audrey, that child, _her _child, had been the only one to tell her the truth.

But there was a constant yet, beyond her illusions and beyond the unforgiving truth. Raphael managed to smile up at Gabriel, smile through her wasted tears and weak, wobbling chin.

"What should I say?" she asked him, "that we are healed?"

Raphael hated the skepticism in her own voice and she hated that Gabriel recognized it. But he was forgiving, her husband, and he was eternal, her constant. There had been, she realized, at least some truth in that.

"Do not be a fool," Gabriel chided her lightly. He pressed the pads of his fingers to the corner of her mouth, his own lips hovering just over her nose. "We never needed healing."

Raphael laughed, her stomach bouncing against his. Her voice rang out in the forest and answered her with an echo, which returned to her mind again and again, even when the sound of it had long died away.

* * *

><p>Michael knew that he wasn't wanted. He was perched on a tree stump, watching an earthworm wiggle its way through mud. His loneliness had left him ill at ease, eroding his usually upright carriage and leaving him stoop-shouldered, his proud head finally bowed in acquiescence. Every now and then he felt the splatter of rain on his brow and the careless wind blew the water into his eyes, blurring the world around him until reality itself seemed unrestrained and delirious. The still-standing trees were restless and they railed against him, this strange child of Heaven who had trespassed again and again and again.<p>

Michael sat in the dull silence of the forest, ignorant of the sounds of life around them, the slight, sweet song of nesting birds and the wooden groan of aged branches moving in the breeze. Far away, in the ordered recesses of his painfully rational mind, he wondered how it was that three had turned out to be such a terrible number. But two, perhaps, was worse. An even pair. A heart for a heart. There was only so much room between a pair of souls…and not a place for him.

Michael chewed on the corner of his mouth, the muscles in his cheek bunching. He hoped they would be angry when they found him waiting so nearby. He hoped they would finally tell him that he wasn't wanted. Even Hell, he reasoned, was better than Purgatory. Michael would rather know he was damned than become another victim to apathy. But then again, he had always been heretical. And he had always been just a little bit melancholy.

Tragedy, however, had not made a favorite out of him and Michael was unaccustomed to equality. It was different this time, of course, a sort of chain reaction, a cycle that renewed itself without any hope of completion. Raphael had gone chasing after Audrey and Gabriel had rushed after his wife and Michael had followed them both, not by instinct, but because he couldn't bear to be left alone, although he always was. Now especially.

Michael drew his wings around him, attempting to imitate a protective embrace. There was the possibility, he considered, that they wouldn't come to see him at all.

Would that be worse?

Michael blinked. The rain had reached his cheeks. His habit of impatience made it difficult to sit still. Focus was what he lacked. Perhaps that was why Raphael had overlooked him in favor of his brother. Perhaps she had wanted certainty. A vow. Or perhaps she had just wanted Gabriel.

Michael stared at the earthworm, its skin the fragile pink of a seashell. It would be worse, he realized, if he managed to lose them both.

The trees were unwanted harbingers, skeletal shadows that marred the grey horizon. Michael tried not to listen to the thrashing of each branch, but the sound carried…along with their voices. He stood, carefully avoiding the burrowing worm, and turned his face to the woods.

After a minute, their voices were no longer mere echoes. Gabriel came into the clearing first. Raphael followed in his wake. Her hair was windswept and she seemed solemn. It had been a long time, of course, since she had relinquished the pluckiness of her youth. The change had been subtle over the years. Michael almost hadn't noticed it. Vaguely, he considered whose fault it was, Gabriel's…or his.

But Raphael lifted her head when she saw him and for an instant, he witnessed a flash of true joy behind her dawning smile. "Michael," she said.

"You weren't expected," Gabriel added lowly.

Michael glanced at his brother, searched for some sign of affront lurking amidst his cold stoicism. But Gabriel's expression was placid. He looked almost hapless as he stood there with Raphael, the pair of them obviously caught unawares but not offended.

For some reason, their indifference bothered him. Michael thought he would almost prefer their anger, for rage was a more definite emotion and he had placed too much faith in it.

"Perhaps you think I shouldn't be here," he said. He was winding his way past the ugly labyrinth of felled tree stumps, the mud already caked on the soles of his boots. And yet, there was some unspoken glory in his angelic presence, a radiation of the celestial light which seemed to find and penetrate the existing beauty of a diseased world. The analogy worked for Michael, who liked to believe that nothing was beyond redemption.

"Are you angry at me for intruding?" Michael prodded Raphael. He sometimes hated that she was so good nature and calm. The world did not deserve benign grace now. It needed convulsions, storms and earthquakes. He wanted to know that she felt just as awful as he did, that they were not alone, but united in their turmoil. It was not fair, he felt, that Gabriel and Raphael had already taken comfort in each other. He was still waiting for his reconciliation. He was still searching for peace. It wasn't over…

Raphael grinned at him. "I am _not _angry," she reassured him. She put a good deal of emphasis on her denial and turning, she shared a smile with Gabriel. It was their secret, their quiet, constant love.

With difficulty, he ignored the familiar jolt of pain that shot through his heart. Michael moved his head, his collar rubbing the thin, sensitive skin over his collarbone. "Are you certain?" he asked. "You have been awfully accusatory of late."

Raphael's eyebrows shot up.

"Slightly," Gabriel amended. He had been unable to stand in the shadow of their conversation far too long. The triumvirate, however ungainly, was once again complete.

"I have never been doubted before," Raphael replied. For all her surprised expression, she remained unruffled.

And even as Michael reached out, searching for her pain, their common wound, he found only emptiness in the air between them. And God, Father, he couldn't be left alone with his agony. He could not possibly survive…

"You have doubted me," Michael rejoined. He thought back to that perilous moment on the ramparts, when he had stood with Gabriel and debated his proposed course of action. It was a bitter memory and he hated its resonance. Old wounds were torn open as he recalled his indecision…and his brother's own stinging obstinacy.

_You question Him._

_I question myself._

Michael had known, of course, that Gabriel wouldn't support him. But he had never anticipated the disastrous outcome, with his blood and his brother's sprayed on the diner floor and Raphael heartbroken because she had lost them and herself also.

It was strange, he reasoned, that he found himself longing for the familiar comfort of their relationship. The number three had never been ideal, but he had wrong to think of it as terrible. Michael, Gabriel and Raphael. Michael, Gabriel and Raphael. It was imperfect, but the imperfection was his…_theirs_.

There had been a good deal of talk about healing lately, although Michael admitted the art was beyond his comprehension and skill. And yet, he knew even Raphael, the nurturer, a mother by nature if not definition, had been challenged to heal the rift between them. The act of restoration, of resurrection, perhaps, could only be completed if it was mutual..

Michael looked at Raphael, a creature in mourning for herself and for them. She had never asked for much for herself and had taken even less. Michael was rightly ashamed when he realized that he had tried to deprive her of her solitary comfort.

After all, they had loved each other, hadn't they? Michael, Gabriel, Raphael. Things had always been that way…even after she chose his brother.

_I can end it now_, Michael thought, feeling, for the first time, the acute pain of their division. _I can heal us all._

"It was my fault," Michael said, the words pooling in mouth, sharp with the flavor of blood. "It was my fault," he repeated so that they would hear him and the forest and mountains as well. "I was the betrayer. I disobeyed. I rebelled against our Father's will. I made Gabriel decide between his brotherly love and his faith. I drove Raphael to despair and loneliness and the wild desperation that led her to forget herself. And I denied the blame. I saw and yet I looked away. I lied to Raphael and told her that what we shared was a dream. And Gabriel, I made you a rival. But it wasn't true…it isn't true. We have loved each. That was real, Raphael, not the lie I told you. And Gabriel, my brother, my soul…you warned me once that I could not disobey His will and not expect to pay the price. Is this my punishment? Have I earned nothing but your hate?"

"Never." The steel in Raphael's voice surprised him, he who was used to her fluting, summery tones. She stepped forward, slightly apart from her husband. Her legs were framed by two tree stumps and she had her hands by her sides, palms facing forward in a posture that was nothing if not forgiving.

For a moment, Michael saw the divinity of motherhood reflected in her, her gentleness and love tempered by a determination that was unforgiving and would save them all now from despair.

"You don't think much of me if you assume I'm capable of hate," Raphael said.

Michael was devastated when he realized that he had upset her. Gabriel too seemed crestfallen and he was about to reply when Raphael interrupted him.

"Not that I intend to quarrel over semantics," she said evenly." What's done is done. We've wasted too much time on heartbreak. Could we start again, please?"*

Michael knew salvation when he saw it and he rushed towards the light, heedless, embracing the gift with his whole heart before his reason could protest.

"Yes," he responded. His eagerness was genuine, his enthusiasm bringing some much needed vibrancy to the desolate clearing, with its shorn trees and befouled earth.

"That is not saying any of us shall get a reprieve from our penance," Raphael reminded them both. "There is much we have to make up for. We will have to work hard, I think, to earn each other's forgiveness." She paused and tugged at her husband's hands, his silence obstinate but not offensive.

Gabriel gazed down at her, his smile not fixed, but rather indeterminate. He appeared to be struggling with rare emotion and his vulnerability caught Michael unawares. He was almost frightened by his brother's reaction, but then recalled that true spiritual intimacy had no limits. It embraced neither the painful nor the joyful, but encompassed all and filled the voids in-between.

Raphael had to stand on her toes to reach Gabriel's face, her hands nestling easily under his jaw, her fingers splayed against his neck where his pulse beat out a constant promise of life, and yes, rebirth. It was the healing touch they all had been searching for since that perilous night in the Mojave. It was the reunion not of earth and Heaven, but of Heaven itself, their Paradise lost, but now found.

Raphael stood with her hands on Gabriel for a minute and then she turned to Michael. He had been waiting for her, the disappointed lover, always in the shadow of their marriage. Michael knew she could only partial assuage his longing, what remained would be his burden, his martyred hope that he alone was destined to bear. Raphael could not carry his pain for him, but perhaps she could give him the strength to endure and journey on.

She kissed him once on the forehead, her lips cool and light. His tears were nearly unnoticeable and he tried to control the way he trembled.

Raphael leaned in closer to him. It was a nostalgic pose, a manifestation of the closeness Michael knew they had shared and could renew now.

"I'm still here," she told him, her plump lower lip just grazing the edge of his ear. "_We're_ still here."

Michael knew what she meant. The watery sun made a valiant effort to burst through the clouds and Gabriel's shadow fell over them. Michael nodded.

"This isn't a farewell," he said. He paused, and then added. "Thank you."

Together, the three of them stood in the clearing, making a shrine out of the wounded forest and its sacrificed land. Night came early and the stars that showed themselves were familiar friends, tiny lights that restored Heaven's blessing on Earth, in every corner of the broken and bleeding world.

And Michael and Gabriel and Raphael stood beneath the brilliant sky, amongst the trees in their own Eden. It was a long time, a very long time, before they dared to move at all.

* * *

><p>But there was loneliness in the night yet, and a nameless worry that would soon be answered for. Not far from the open glade, sitting high in one of the trees that the logger's had yet to touch, Uriel contemplated the faint outline of the countryside and the road that ran through the forest like a still river. The angel wasn't exactly forlorn as he crouched on the sturdy branch, but he had opened his heart up to disappointment and doubt. For the first time, Uriel had a hard time reconciling his Heavenly family with his new earthly one.<p>

As the night deepened, twilight rushing away in great haste to make way for the bruised blue clouds of the late evening, Uriel thought about Audrey. He thought about her quite often. It seemed a shame that the girl would have to trudge back to her rustic camp and huddle alone in the dark with no company, no companionship save for the frightened, humans who had clung together to survive. It seemed impossible to him that Raphael could have forsaken Audrey and left her to such a fate. It seemed unfair that things didn't turn out the way they should have, with sacrifice being deferred just once for the sake of fulfillment.

Uriel rested his head on the silver bark, his face turned to the wind which was strong in the upper reaches of the forest canopy. His branch held firm, however, even under his girth and the added weight of uncertainty that pressed him down, down closer the muddied earth.

He had decided, long ago, after seeing Audrey that afternoon, scrawny and overwhelmed by her ill-fitting clothes, her wit still precise and stinging, that he didn't have the true heart of an angel. He could never be like Michael, who professed to love humans but would sacrifice every life in order to save one child. He could never be like Gabriel, who held himself aloof from men because he couldn't forgive Adam and Eve for their first sin. And he could never be like Raphael, who had promised to nurture and to heal but had left a deadness in her wake, blighting the new growth she should have protected.

No, Uriel had decided. He had decided that he could no longer define himself as the others did, that he was separate from them for a reason, and that purpose would now be realized. For many years, he had wasted his energy in trying to complete their circle, augmenting Michael and Gabriel and Raphael's trinity with his own spirit, only to be refused.

He was like Audrey, in that way, less dependent on others and more reliant on his own independence.

Uriel wondered if the others knew what they were missing, if they would look for him when he absented himself and find only the missing. But he had none of their cruelty, none of their casual, cold shoulder rejection.

No family, he knew, could be based on exclusion. Only acceptance. Only open arms. Only love.

Uriel stood, the branch creaking. The low heels of his boots teetered on the edge. His head had knocked into the bough above and for a moment, he was bathed in the cool scent of pine. Uriel shut his eyes and breathed in. The wind was strong that night, it carried with it the scent of the trees and the wet soil and something else, something crisp, an odor that could be overpowering if it grew. And grow it did.

Uriel opened his eyes, his heart slamming against his ribcage as he realized, all at once, what the smell was.

Smoke. Smoke wreathed the air. And in the distance, not so far from where Audrey's camp lay, there was fire.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thanks so much for reading! If you have a spare moment, please leave me a review. I would be eternally grateful! The next chapter will be posted soon. Until then, take care and be well!

_*This line was taken from the song by the same name featured in Andrew Lloyd Webber's "Jesus Christ Superstar". To be honest, I based much of Raphael, Gabriel and Michael's relationship on this song, as it seemed to fit their rather sad predicament. _


	25. Chapter Twenty Five Phoenix

**Author's Note: **Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! I know this chapter should have been posted ages ago, but RL has become so crazy. As I mentioned before, I'm having some issues dealing with a newly diagnosed chronic illness. I even had to go out of state for some additional testing and believe or not, having a feeding tube put in is _not_ half as fun as it sounds. Needless to say, I am sincerely grateful for the support and encouragement I've received from my readers and reviewers, **ofThorsnandRedPetals09, saichick-Anna-Erishkigal, Lystan, Snevilly **and **Chastity**. Thank you all so much for your awesome feedback and continued interest in this fic! I do hope you enjoy this installment.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Twenty-Five Phoenix**

Hank was on a war path. As soon as he came roaring into camp that afternoon, Audrey knew that the old Sheriff was in a mood to maul. Sheltering in the doorway of her R.V., she watched him tear up and down the road with a few of his country boy deputies, looking for the precious cans of propane that had somehow been misplaced. Mari stood behind her, appropriately cowed, her hands hidden in the oversized sleeves of her dingy flannel shirt.

"Is he coming this way?" she lisped.

Audrey didn't like her jumpiness. She'd dealt with bigger pricks than Hank and she couldn't understand why anyone would be afraid of him, no matter how much he yelled and stamped and snorted. In fact, the particular cherry hue of his face made her giggle and she had to hide her smile behind her hand when he stormed past her camper.

"You wanna get us in trouble?" Mari accused. She was trying to usher one of the younger kids back into the R.V.. The boy gave her a hard time, though. He whined and squirmed like one of the worms Audrey speared on her hook every morning. Mari sighed in frustration and plopped the kid on his cot.

"Aww, leave him alone," Audrey muttered, amused by the boy's petty rebellion. It didn't matter if the whole world had literally gone to shit. Kids were still going to be kids and life, as relentless and unforgiving as the God who had created it, rolled right along.

"Would you just get out of here?" Mari snapped as the boy sniffed and forced out a few crocodile tears.

Audrey didn't need telling twice. She retrieved her knapsack from the back of the camper and gave Mari the finger as she stepped outside. But the girl was too harassed to notice, which took must of the fun out of it. Whatever small comfort she received from being out of the cold and in the shelter of the R.V. had long ago worn off and Audrey decided to indulge nomadic spirit. Cabin fever had already begun to settle in, making her miss the vast, open silence of the forest that soothed her soul in an unexpected way.

Audrey crossed the lane a few yards behind Hank's back and headed back into the forest. She wondered if Uriel was still hanging around in the trees and if he'd oblige her by sweeping her off her feet and taking her to a land far, far away. But not even Snow White had gotten her prince without trying. She'd had to bite into that apple first.

Audrey smiled as she heard Hank hollering away, his voice a rumble of distant thunder that provided a little color to the bleak and monotonous existence she had been oh she casually dropped into. It made her kind of glad, in a strange way, that life wasn't a fairy-tale.

* * *

><p>It was a miracle, Audrey decided. She let her knapsack slide off her shoulder and hit the ground with a thud. The sun was out, just barely, a few tender rays warming the branches of the elegant pines. Audrey stood in a clearing she had found not far from camp and let the light touch her face. The heat was delicious and it gently eased away the minor headache gnawing at her temples. She took in a deep breath, the air crisp with the scent of thawing soil and some smoke that probably came from the cook-out fires. Her stomach rumbled once to remind her that she hadn't eaten that day. Audrey ignored the pang of hunger and settling herself by a lichen-covered log. She used her heavy coat as a blanket to keep the seat of her pants clean and sat on the fleece undersider. The forest almost seemed a few degrees warmer to her, a hopeful hint that spring was just around the corner. Audrey imagined the mountains would be real pretty when summer came. Maybe she could get Uriel to fly her up to the peaks one sun-smiling day. They could sit together at an abandoned overlook and she could sketch the valley. There would be wildflowers tucked into the crags of rock, sweet buds that were pale against the dark mountainside. She could take some of them with her back to camp and press them between the pages of her sketchbook…<p>

Audrey winced. It was impossible to think of flowers and not remember Raphael. She clutched her hands over her stomach, feeling the boney ridges of her knuckles. It would be a long time, she realized, before she forgot Raphael…if she ever forgot her at all.

A growl of defiance rose in her throat, her anger provoked by the unfairness of it all, by the painful paradox that was coming full circle now. Raphael had saved her life, but she had also damaged Audrey. The healer had left her with wounds more devastating than the ones that had nearly killed her that night in the Mojave.

If the situation had been less agonizing, she would have found it terribly funny. But the irony cut her deep. Audrey leaned back against the fallen log and shut her eyes. It would be worse if she held on, if she allowed herself to long for what she had been denied, rightfully or unjustly.

Solitude was cleansing. It was the path to adulthood, to the place beyond mothers and fathers and children who dreamed in colored fairy-tales when the world itself was black and white.

She could make it on her own, if she really tried. She was the baby bird with wings, not the helpless hatchling that dashed its brains out on the ground after falling from the nest.

Slowly, Audrey stretched out her arms and opened her fingers wide.

There was one thing, she knew, that Raphael had given her. One thing she could be thankful for.

"Wings," Audrey whispered.

And she was going to fly away.

* * *

><p>She must have dozed. Getting up before dawn and trudging down to the river to fish had exhausted Audrey and that was <em>before<em> she had had it out with Raphael. The sun was warm, too warm almost and she let her head loll back against the log. Dreams flitted through her subconscious, images of doves and lilacs and the lake by the golf course near her old house where she had nearly drowned. It had been spring when that happened, but she hadn't remembered it being so hot. Hot like it was now, hot in a forest where patches of snow still lingered by the tree roots and near the banks of the river.

Audrey was sweating. Sweat had dampened her hair with grease and grime. She rolled her head off the long and opened her eyes, feeling drugged. It was hard to take a deep breath, the air thick, like water swimming in her lungs.

Audrey choked. Fog had fallen over the forest again and she couldn't see a few feet passed her nose. The sun was gone behind a veil of heavy clouds, blackened by ash and embers instead of rain.

Someone in the camp was screaming a horrible, desperate scream that put ice into her stomach even though she was burning. Audrey twisted her head around. Falling cinders singed her hair. The trees behind her, once green with life, were shriveled and charred, consumed by flames that rose higher and higher up the mountainside.

And then she remembered. Mari. The cigarette butts. They'd set the forest on fire.

* * *

><p>The wind, laced with sulfur and ash, chased Uriel from his perch on one of the high branches. He dove for cover underneath the cool forest canopy, shielded by the embrace of the evergreens which were painted a murky red as the glow from the fire reached across the intercepting miles. He landed on his feet and stood knee-deep in the brush, listening to the fiendish crackle of the flames. In a little less than an hour, Uriel guessed that the tree he had sat in would be consumed, if the wind held its course and continued to guide the inferno north. He shivered. The air was tainted with warring currents, both hot and cold. He thought of Lucifer in his Pit and those unfortunate souls that suffered the worst of agonies, fires that burned, but did not destroy.<p>

_Audrey._

She was somewhere out there. She was in danger. Or she was lost to the flames already, her soul freed to wander the vast wasteland of Purgatory…until someone came to claim it.

_No_.

Uriel's response was visceral. A vision of loud colors and screams and a pounding panic that launched him into flight once more. He burst free of the canopy, the razor tips of his wings shredding bark from branches and scattering pine needles in a fragrant shower around his head. He had to fight the force of the wind, which tossed him back against the clouds and bewildered him with breaths of smoke. Time suddenly became precious, an element that he couldn't control but was destructive in its own right. From afar, Uriel tried to reach Audrey's soul. But the world was lost to blind chaos and he found himself drowning in a sea of wretched humanity, of suffering that seemed without end.

But Audrey must still be alive. She had to be. With one decisive thrust of his wings, Uriel regained his equilibrium and raced towards the raging wildfire. He could find her, pluck her from furnace and carry her away to safety. He could continue where Raphael had failed. He could save the one soul he truly thought was worth saving,

Uriel rose up into the sky, gulping the clear air that was not yet tainted with smoke and cinders. He threw his weight forward, through the wispy tendrils of the silver moon-clouds and into the climbing heat of wildfire. But he hadn't gotten very, not very far at all when something on the forest floor snagged his attention. Uriel soared and circled around the wide clearing. His shadow flickered over the muddy ground below. They were like jeweled stars fallen from Heaven, ascetics in the wilderness and they stood together, the three of them.

Michael, Gabriel and Raphael.

Uriel uttered a small cry when he noticed them gathered in the clearing, their presence unlooked for, but certainly not unwanted. For once, he thought, he might actually be glad to see them.

* * *

><p>"Do you remember when we were young?" Michael asked.<p>

Raphael dropped her head and looked at him. She had been gazing at the stars, whose brightness seemed to challenge her own lethargy. Sitting with both her husband and Michael, she had allowed her tensed muscles to uncoil. She had permitted herself to surrender to the full weight of exhaustion that had been bearing down on her for quite some time. It was the perfect moment to lower her guard. Raphael squirmed about on the tree stump she had perched herself on. A strange sense of contentment had seeped through her flesh, its touch warm, lulling and heating the frozen blood in her veins until she felt sleepy and wistful and more than happy to indulge Michael in his nostalgia.

"We _were_ young," Raphael told him, resting her cheek on her palm.

"We were never young," Gabriel corrected from where he sat next to her.

That made her laugh, her throat throbbing with a weakness that reminded her of atrophied muscle. It had been a while since she properly laughed. And it had been an age, a stretch of uncounted, desolate time, since she had been so at peace with Michael and Gabriel.

She did not bother to chastise her husband for being augmentative. Raphael had long realized that Gabriel and Michael couldn't be happy with unless they were at odds with each other. And that they could love in spite of their differences, yes, that was the true marvel, the _real_ miracle.

Michael hitched his mouth up in a grin, too boyish and carefree for his own good. "We only age when we forget to be young," he said. He paused and then added, "I can remember those first few days, each primal sensation of air and light and soil and His Voice. And then suddenly I wasn't alone with Him anymore. I remember what it was like when He brought you both to me."

Gabriel flushed a little, his cheeks tinted a mild, mottled violet in the shadows. Raphael returned her gaze to the stars. The clouds had thickened and she could only see the tip of the moon, an ivory tusk jutting out amongst the serene, faceless black. The air was surprisingly warm and she wiggled her bare toes, enjoying the wet, slow-thawing soil beneath her feet.

But then she thought of Audrey and had to close her eyes. She hated her hurt, that tender place besides her otherwise robust heart.

She wondered, vaguely, how long the wound would pain her. She wondered if there would come a day when it didn't hurt at all.

Raphael's eyelids fluttered when she inhaled. Her nostrils were stung by a tangy perfume, a deeper musk that pervaded the woodsy scent of the old lichen and felled trees about her. The smell was cloying and too familiar to ignore. Raphael was restless. She stood and shrugged off her apathy, her natural instincts stirred and pulled taut like strings on a harp.

"Do you smell it?" she asked them, interrupting Gabriel and Michael's mild chatter.

"In the distance," she prompted, her voice raised, "can you smell it?"

Gabriel pushed himself to his feet. Michael took one step closer to them.

"Is it…?" he began, but never finished.

The open sky was obscured by shadow and a sudden rush of wings, long steel feathers clashing together to create a frantic cacophony.

Raphael had to lurch backwards to avoid Uriel as he landed. The younger angel had dropped from the sky so fast that his legs were unprepared for the impact. He bent his knees and tried to take the full force of the hit in his lower body, although Raphael saw him stagger.

Gabriel reached forward to catch him, the elder hawk reprising the unsteady, reckless fledgling.

Uriel straightened and threw his hair out of his face. He had a strange look of unbridled terror in his eyes, which stole away their cerulean clarity in favor of alarm. "I never thought I would find you," he panted, catching at a stitch in his side.

Michael, ever the General, braced one hand on his shoulder to support him. "Why were you even looking for us?" he demanded.

Uriel shook his head breathlessly. "I wasn't. It's…it's all by chance. What a blessing! But hurry, we don't have much time!"

His fingers snaked around Michael's wrist and he looked from his General back to Gabriel, whose face was clouded with thunder.

Raphael sensed the fragility of the moment, which depended only on doubt and moody countenances. Both Michael and Gabriel were looking skeptical and for an instant, she pitied Uriel in his fear.

She had always hated to see little things suffer so.

Uriel seemed to sense her sympathy. He had a keen soul, one that was reflective of virtue and immune to vice. "It's Audrey," he said with one great burst of air, his shoulders heaving as he struggled to push out the words.

Raphael's heart thrummed against her breastbone. The skin behind her knees and on the backs of her thighs prickled with the cold. "What are you saying?"

"I tried to get to her," Uriel explained. He had shouldered his way between Gabriel and Michael. "There is a fire in the trees…in the forest. I saw it from the sky closing around her camp and the smoke was rising, blinding me. Don't you understand? She's trapped. The flames…God, Father, she'll be burned alive."

_Horror of horrors_. Raphael recoiled and Michael made a choking noise and even Gabriel appeared perturbed, his nostrils flaring to catch the scent of smoke that was now wafting in heavy streams towards them.

"Help me," Uriel begged.

"Help you?" Michael questioned, a confused frown pulling at his mouth.

"Uriel wants us to intervene on humanity's behalf once again," Gabriel deduced. "But that was never our place, not our choice. Were we not meant only to guide them?" He looked to his wife.

Raphael shunned his gaze, drawing her wings close about her body in a reflexive gesture meant both to shield and to comfort. But the fever was upon her already, the disease, yes, the longed that had been her undoing. Raphael thought it was wretchedly ironic that her Father had given her the ability to heal and yet she herself was marked as a leper.

It was her instinct that betrayed her. It was the memory of that lonely child pressed to her breast. It was what she had, for a little while, for only a little while, when Audrey was hers…

Slowly, the threat of the fire invaded the sanctuary of the clearing. The smell of smoke was unbearable now. Raphael felt a very distinct pain in the back of her throat when she tried to breathe.

"He can't be asking this," she rasped, looking to both Michael and Gabriel for support.. "We decided…_I_ decided. It's finished."

She heard Uriel make a soft noise, a cry of despair that was laced with a sob. "I cannot believe," he stammered, "I cannot comprehend such indifference from _you_!"

It was an accusation directed squarely at her. Raphael winced and arched her body as if her back had been touched by a lash. "Stop it," she hissed.

"Uriel, enough," Michael threatened.

"Leave her be," Gabriel rumbled.

Raphael had her back to the youngest archangel, but the heat of his rage enveloped her. She was surprised that he was asserting himself so forcefully, bucking both the natural authority of his elders and the ancient bylaws of angelic conduct that had guided them for ages.

"This isn't possible," Uriel continued, his voice reaching over the sound of the inferno. "Do you realize the sin you are committing? All three of you, no less! I will hold each of you accountable, if your consciences will not. I will not forget that Michael, Gabriel and Raphael, the foremost guardians of our Father's love for humanity, stood idly by when they were most needed by one dying soul. Gabriel, you who watched over Bethlehem and brought the news of salvation to mankind…I am revolted by your cynicism. Michael, I ashamed to bear witness to your hypocrisy! You defied all of Heaven to save the life of a babe, but cannot be moved to mercy for another helpless child. And Raphael, I can only say that you are ignorant…ignorant of yourself, no less, which is the greater crime. All these years you have worked against the gifts our Father gave to you. Have you ever considered that it is your denial alone that has kept you from motherhood? Have you ever thought to lay the blame where it truly belongs…not with Gabriel, not with fate, not with mischance. _You_, Raphael, are guilty of passive acquiescence. You are responsible for your own suffering. It is a sad paradox that the physician is helpless to heal herself…or will be if you look the other way now. Look, Raphael, for the sake of your own soul, look!"

Uriel's voice had lost the legato tones of youth as he spoke and when he at last broke off, his words were fortified with iron that upheld the weight of his argument.

Raphael felt the echo of his accusation vibrate against her back, the silver-edges of her feathers quivering in the dusky moonlight. Uriel had presented her with neither a threat nor a challenge. His daring might have even provoked her to anger, had he not seemed on the verge of pleading. Standing there in the open cold of winter, with the heat of Hell threading its way through the high spires of the evergreens, Raphael was overcome by a strange feeling a peace. The sensation soothed her, as if she had stepped into a pond of deep, cool water and dipped below the surface to watch the fickle play of light above.

Raphael closed her eyes. She imagined the water passing through her arms, swimming around her ankles, filling her lungs with every breath she took. Uriel was right, of course, and she was glad for it.

Life wasn't so much of exquisite suffering. It was rather simple, really.

Raphael opened her eyes, ignoring the assaulting sting of the smoke. Looking to her right, she saw that Gabriel and Michael's forms had been obscured by the thickening veil. She could just make out the huge arc of their wings, but no more. Their expressions were hidden, their faces masked. Raphael, however, didn't care much what they thought. For the first time she dared herself to look beyond them, beyond the constant to the divide she had once dreaded, but now seemed all the more natural. Appropriate. Expected.

_This is the new normal_, she told herself. _Not the old. Not what I wanted, but what I needed…_

Her silence must have been torturous for Uriel. The young angel took a jerky step forward, his boots making a sucking noise as they pulled at the mud. "Please," he began, "please, please…"

Raphael held up her hand. "Enough," she said and he was silenced. It hadn't taken her long to decide, she realized, after so much heartache and uncertainty. It hadn't taken her very long at all.

* * *

><p>The embers were settling in her hair. Audrey's stomach revolted at the smell of burnt follicles and she covered her nose with her sleeve to block out the smoke. She had managed to get to her feet, rather blindly, and totter away from the fire to the far edge of the clearing. But the flames were close on her heels, blocking the path back to the camp and the few trails she was familiar with.<p>

Audrey turned once and looked over her shoulder at the fire. The log she had been leaning against was already engulfed. Her knapsack, left behind with her supplies and sketchpad, had been greedily devoured.

Fear swept over her, chilling her body for an instant before the unbearable heat returned. She couldn't imagine what it would to be like to be burned alive.

Twigs pulled at the baggy folds of her pants' leg. Audrey felt as though the forest were trying to reach out and trap her, holding her in place with all the treachery of a spider's web. With renewed effort and a cry of pure terror, she broke free of the underbrush only to plunge into a second thicket. The warmth on her back and neck had evolved from a persistent heat to something that scalded. The air was molten. It stuck to Audrey's flesh. Another moment this close to the flames and she feared that her skin would begin to peel off.

Again, she threw her weight forward, ripping free of the brush while adding a few deep scratches to her legs and arms. The pointed end of a branch, as sharp as a spear, dug into her cheek and left a gash. Blood leaked down her face. Audrey thought wildly of water. She wished for a tsunami to rise up and douse the flames, but there were no oceans in the forest.

Only a river.

Audrey whimpered as remembrances of her fishing trips and the long, cold mornings spent on the banks came flooding bask to her. Fire could not cross water…but she could. If she could only get to the river and wade in. If she could find her way and follow its course down and away from the flames…

_I can make it_.

She gritted her teeth, letting the pain in her cheek and the unbearable heat fuel her adrenalin. It was almost impossible to move through heavy forest undergrowth. The muscles in Audrey's thighs and calves screamed in protest, but she dragged her legs forward, step by step, inch by painful inch. Time was not on her side. Audrey knew she would have to rely on her sense of direction alone to find her way to the river. The trail back to the camp was consumed by fire and the smoke was cloying, filling her lungs and burning her eyes until she could only squint through her hot tears. Audrey groped in front of her, grabbing branches and loose tree bark as she tried to find some clear ground. She was sweating furiously and the weight of her oversized clothes slowed her progress.

By some miracle, the forest floor cleared. The bramble thinned and Audrey felt solid, hard ground beneath her feet. Her heart jumped into her mouth, giving her her first taste of hope. Animal instinct had given her a second wind and in her haste, she stumbled once, then twice as she tried to break into an ungainly trot. The noxious thickness of the air began to cede to a westward wind. Each gust drove the smoke back, fanned the flames to the east and Audrey was able to breathe again. She sucked air in through her mouth as she ran. The glow of the fire ceded to an uneasy darkness.

Audrey fell for a third time, her palms meeting a layer of clay and mud and moisture that felt wonderfully cool against her skin. The river was close by, it had to be! Audrey climbed to her feet and careened further into the dark. The ground began to slope beneath her feet and she did not bother to adjust her pace as she ran. Her footsteps were not quite as fleet as a rabbit's and yet the frantic pitter patter of her heart mimicked that of a hunted woodland creature. At last, she stumbled down the slick embankment.

It was too dark for Audrey to see where the water began and the shore ended. Dropping down onto her backside, she slid herself forward until her feet were eased into the water. The silt on the bed was soft and gave a little under her weight when she tried to stand. Audrey swayed, holding her arms out on either side of her like an acrobat on a tightrope.

_I'm gonna make it…_

Air hissed from between her clenched teeth. The ice water soaked her pants and left her shoes soggy, but the cold felt good on her skin. She was about knee-deep in the river now and far enough from the flames to pause and glance back over her shoulder. Audrey almost didn't want to look behind her. The sinister shriek of the fire devouring wood and moss and leaves filled her ears with all the discordance of the choirs of Hell, the music tuned to ghastly perfection as the forest faced its imminent destruction.

The wetness on her cheek, that sticky trail of congealing blood, reminded Audrey of tears. With some difficulty, she turned her gaze to the fire and watched the crown of smoke grow heavy over the treetops. There was a sour feeling in her stomach, her fear curdling in her gut as she thought of all the refugees back at the camp, Mari and the little kids and even Hank. What if they hadn't managed to get out in time? What if they had been sleeping, all tucked together in their campers and R.V.s when the fire surrounded them and closed off all escape routes?

Audrey gulped, knowing that she couldn't give into sadness or even terror just yet. She wasn't quite out of the woods herself, with only the river to follow and the flames drawing closer. She'd have to move fast if she wanted to outrace the fire.

Her moment's pause had allowed the current to settle a fresh layer of silt around her feet. Audrey plucked her feet free from the river bed and continued onward. The water was beginning to pull at her and not having the benefit of her crutch to brace herself, she couldn't gain her balance. She wasn't thinking, wasn't being careful enough when she shifted the weight in her upper body, trying to wade out of the shallows in to the middle of the river. After a struggle, she managed to lift her right leg, but her foot never touched the river bed. There was no ground beneath her. There was no solid surface to catch her and keep her upright. Audrey fell and the water, just as eager as the flames, closed over her body.

The world was turned upside down and seemingly inside out. As she tumbled, Audrey was caught up in the chaotic spill of light and water and the diffused heat of the fire. A screech forced her jaw open and river water rushed in. Again, her lungs burned. She choked, spitting mucus and drawing in more water. The current of the river thrashed against her body. She fought against it, valiantly and was able to poke her head above the surface for a precious second.

Audrey groped at the free air, her hands landing back in the water. She tried to breathe but her mouth was clogged by a film of moisture. Invisible fingers settled around her narrow throat and squeezed. Searing pain built up in her cheekbones and behind her eyes when she tried to inhale. Her legs, already weakened, couldn't keep up with the relentless swell of the water.

The river carried her downstream, mastering her body when she could not, taking her limbs for itself as she rolled and thrashed and was dragged along like another piece of lifeless flotsam.

She was drowning.

When she went under a second time, her limp, ragdoll body met with some resistance. The rocks sitting on the river's bed had been worn smooth over time, but solid enough that when Audrey slammed into them, she was certain a few ribs had been broken. The fresh bout of agony dizzied her, the world fading away into a disorientated blur that would only end with darkness and a numbness she almost longed for.

In one last effort, she threw out her arms and tried to catch herself on one of the rocks. Her consciousness was slipping away, even as she realized that she had succeeded. Something held her fast and in place. Her hand had been wedged between two rocks, or so she guessed from the immense pressure on her wrist. Audrey reached back with her free arm and was surprised when a hand threaded its fingers through hers.

She was being pulled, her shoulder nearly wrenched from its socket, pulled and pulled and pulled until her head broke the surface.

A muffled, thin cry gurgled in her throat as she drank in air. She heaved and vomited water, tasting the river in her mouth even as the current tried to pull her back under. But someone was holding her. Audrey was aware of a pair of arms around her waist and a soft body pressed to her battered torso.

But the voice that trumpeted in her ear was less than sympathetic. It had a hard, cutting edge to it that Audrey had never heard before and for a minute, she was frightened

"You stupid, stupid girl!" Raphael shouted.

Audrey blinked. She could see only bits and pieces of the angel, the strands of her wet hair that were plastered to her face, her head bobbing in the black river, the tips of her wings, which had fanned out to block the current.

Audrey whimpered and instinctively, held her savior close.

Raphael responded, not with cold indifference, but with a warmth that reached Audrey even as she floated in the cold water. She hugged the girl to her.

But then the angel struggled against her. Audrey's grip went slack. She couldn't understand why Raphael was moving away. Her rescuer flailed in the water, just as helplessly as Audrey had a moment before. Terror had paled Raphael's face when she tried to raise her wings above the surface. The long feathers, such lethal instruments in their own right, were completely waterlogged.

_Useless_, Audrey thought. She wondered if angels could drown.

Raphael slapped at the water, creating waves that overcame them both. "Oh God," the she muttered, her plea loud enough even for Audrey to hear. "Oh God, oh Father…."

"Here!"

Audrey couldn't comprehend it, but another hand had lifted her from the water. She was being borne by the scruff of her neck, her legs dangling, her shoes bouncing against Raphael's head.

"Uriel!" Raphael called.

Audrey craned her neck and looked above her. Using brute strength, Uriel lifted her with one hand and cradled her close to his breast. But he wasn't looking at her. Some silent exchange passed between Uriel and Raphael. An agreement. An understanding.

Raphael nodded and as she did so, her head disappeared under the water.

Audrey screamed and buried her face in Uriel's neck. She could feel his heart beating against her lips as they flew, as he carried her far, far away.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Yes, a very mean cliffhanger. Sorry for being such an evil author! I do promise to make it up to all of you in the final chapter, which I hope to have posted in a more timely fashion.;)

Thanks so much for reading! If you're still out there, please send me a quick review. I love hearing from all of you. And for you Uriel fans, you might want to glance at my profile for a link to an absolutely amazing drawing of him an artist created for me. I'm telling you, it's stunning. If you ever wanted to know how I picture Uriel, take a minute to check it out.

I hope you are all enjoying your summer. Until next time!


	26. Chapter Twenty Six The Homecoming

**Author's Note: **Here it is! The final chapter. I'm so excited! It seemed to take forever to get to this point…at least over a year. ^_^

As always, I want to thank everyone who reviewed/read/followed and/or favorited this story. You guys have made me insanely happy. I'm so glad that you were able to enjoy this fic, because I certainly had a great time writing it for you.

Now, without further ado…the end.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Legion.

**Chapter Twenty-Six Homecoming**

There was a softness to the dark. A downy quality, like being wrapped up in a comforter, her head resting on a pillow that was gentle enough to cradle both body and mind and chase away what dim fears lit her waking hours. Audrey knew that she was sleeping. She knew that her spirit had surrendered to a mild silence. It was a tender place. It was safe. And it very much like being in the womb again, a memory that her body had dredged up from the days before her birth.

Audrey couldn't imagine ever wanting to leave her sanctuary. Her ignorance of life and the world itself lulled her into a regressed state. She was formless and thoughtless. She had given up her existence for the security of oblivion, for the peacefulness that came with not knowing. In the most distant corner of her mind, Audrey decided that she didn't want to wake up. She decided that she didn't want to live again.

But the intruders came, before she could fend them off. A hint of light, a sliver of white that mixed with the black and lightened it to a grey. An intense pressure rested just atop her pupils, blurring her vision even though she kept her eyes closed. The black became a vortex, color and sound and the faded edges of memory swirling and bubbling like a whirlpool. It pulled her into the epicenter, to the heart of the darkness which shifted into light, which grew into the world she had resigned and the life she had given up.

Air pushed its way into her lungs. The restoration was painful. It forced Audrey back into her flesh, her soul caged once more beneath muscle and blood and bone. The pressure on her eyes had turned into pain and the only way to relieve it was to look. To open herself up again and see what she was being offered.

A second chance. A second birth.

Audrey's eyes fluttered, and for an instant, she was blinded. The visual assault left her reeling, shapes twisting and spinning and melting as she tried to make sense of what was up and what was down and what wasn't real at all.

_I know this place. I've been here before._

The revelation provoked her courage. Breathing deeply, she gave her eyes a moment to adjust, letting her mind catch up with what her senses had already taken in. There was a ceiling above her, painted the color of eggshells, with a few cracks running lengthwise in the plaster. Audrey half-expected yellow yokes to start dripping down on her head.

_I know this place. I've been here before._

She was laying flat on her back, bruised, but not broken. The pillow beneath her head felt warm and she let her aching neck sink into it. Cautiously, she wiggled her toes beneath the sheets. Her muscles responded. She could feel.

The familiarity of the situation was not lost on her, but the ache between her temples made it difficult to remember. Audrey turned her head to the side and that's when she saw him.

Uriel looked perfectly at ease sitting in the wicker chair by the door. He had somehow positioned his wings behind him so that his long feathers wouldn't get stuck on the back of the chair. Still, Audrey saw a few gouges running deep in the knotted wood. It must have taken a lot of trial and error for him to find a comfortable position. And it must have taken him a very long time.

Her mouth formed a little 'o' of shock when she finally realized where she was. But then her lips peeled back into a smile.

"You brought me back to the cabin," she rasped. Her voice didn't sound nearly as elated as she felt. The back of her throat tasted like smoke and her nostrils were singed. It hurt to talk, but Audrey knew she wouldn't be able to keep quiet.

Uriel reflected her smile rather blandly. He looked tired and Audrey noticed a soot stain on his neck, just inside his iron collar. "You make it seem as though it were impossible," he said.

"I thought it was."

"Only because you have no faith."

For a moment, Audrey felt the sting of his chastisement. But she couldn't stay mad at Uriel for long, not when she owed him her life and so much more. And that was all it took, really, to bring back the unwelcome flood of memories from the night before. The fire. The river. The unlikely rescue from Heaven itself, from the one angel she had hoped she would never see again.

Suddenly, Audrey was very, very frightened.

"Raphael," she choked. A fleeting image of the angel sinking below the river's surface brought burning tears to her eyes. She blinked and clutched the sides of the bed.

Uriel's smile turned patient. "Oh my," he said, "I seem to detect something of concern in your tone. You're not quite so stubborn after all, are you?"

And now the tears did truly come. Audrey couldn't stop them. "Don't say that," she heaved. The tiny bedroom in the back of the cabin felt stifling, the heat promising to match the flames of the night before even though the window was opened a crack. Audrey remembered that Raphael had always left the window open for her when she slept, so that she could smell the woodsy notes of pine drifting in the cold winter air and catch the breezes that bore away any trace of stuffiness.

She breathed heavily, trying to suck some oxygen into her smoke-scorched nose. Uriel's face softened. Sliding forward in his chair, he touched three fingers to Audrey's cheek and followed the line of her jaw.

"I am relieved to see that you are frightened for her," he said.

Audrey thought it was an odd thing for him to say, but she brushed it off. "What happened?" she demanded. "When you pulled me out of the water, what happened?"

The angel's eyes widened, his expression solemn and remote. It seemed as though he were trying to make her understand something, but Audrey was clueless. The narrow bridge connecting them pulled taut, stretching the boundaries of their young friendship until she was certain that he was drawing away from her, gliding up to a higher sphere where she didn't belong…and wasn't welcome.

"It rained," Uriel said simply.

Audrey raised both her eyebrows. She wished that the divide between the celestial and temporal wasn't so obvious. It made her feel lonely when she realized that faith meant something and without it, she could never be as close to Uriel as she wanted to be.

"I don't," she began, but Uriel held up his hand to silence her. He put his fingers over her lips, his skin warm against hers.

"Can't you see?" he asked her with a quiet desperation.

Audrey felt each of his words inside her. And with the echo of them, she knew that Uriel wanted to her to look, not with her eyes, but with the inner clarity only her soul possessed.

"It rained," she repeated. "It rained."

The wind surged in the woods outside, pouring its breath through the window. Its whispering voice bore slender threads of smoke, but the stench was overcome by the scent of wet earth. Audrey blinked, imagining the sky's round, pregnant belly splitting open with rain, the angry hiss of the flames as water poured down over the smoldering tree tops. Finally, she understood.

"The fires!" she gasped.

"Doused," Uriel replied for her, his fingers pulling away from her lips. "Flooded. It's-"

"A miracle," Audrey finished.

Uriel's chin wobbled. "It was a gift."

"From God, you mean," she said. Her hands twisted in the sheets.

Uriel nodded benignly. "Yes Audrey, from God."

She fell back against the pillow, her arms folded over her middle. The frown dragging at her lips made her remember the gash on her cheek. Audrey touched it with careful fingers, the skin tender and slightly sweaty. She had the feeling that Uriel expected her to be thankful to God. It wasn't a concept she was particularly comfortable with, considering she had witnessed the very worst of divine wrath when it was visited upon her family that Christmas night at Paradise Falls. She wondered if God felt sorry for having tried to destroy His world. She wondered if He was trying to make amends now, through her, the most unworthy vessel. Or, she considered, this was just another peculiarity of faith she didn't understand and wouldn't until the scars on her heart found a way to heal themselves. And there was only one Healer she knew, really.

Her throat grew tight. "If the fire's out, does that mean—"

Uriel raised his eyebrows, his golden curls charmingly misplaced over his smooth forehead. "You do realize that she was willing to sacrifice for you, don't you, Audrey?"

She clenched her fingers against her palms. "Yes."

"And sacrifice isn't easy, even for God's angels."

"Even though I never asked her for anything," Audrey replied, a hard edge to her voice. "Even though I never asked her for…for all this…" She gestured at the cozy bedroom and the tiny cabin beyond, her safe little nook away from all that was terrible and frightening, her refuge from all the things she wasn't strong enough to face yet, even though she couldn't admit it to herself.

"Sometimes we do not have to ask for things," Uriel said. He put his hand on her leg. Audrey could feel the warmth of it seeping through the sheets. She blushed.

"Sometimes," the angel continued, "we must only need them."

"You make it sound as though people should feel sorry for me," Audrey muttered. She stared at her lap. "You make me sound helpless…needing all these things."

"Maybe," Uriel said, leaning closer to her, his breath blowing against her ear and stirring the stringy tendrils of her hair, "maybe I wasn't speaking of you, Audrey. Maybe I was speaking of…"

_Raphael_, Audrey thought. She experienced a weird sensation in the pit of her stomach, a hollowness that was like hunger but much more overwhelming. Glancing at Uriel, she knew all of a sudden what he meant. They shared a moment, a rapturous second of communion and unity that filled her with something very like hope. But Audrey didn't dare…she didn't dare to dream yet.

"She got out all right, didn't she?" the girl asked.

Uriel tilted his chin, dimples framing his mouth. "I think she would like to see you," he said, "although you'll have to decide whether or not you want to see her."

Audrey's body tensed. The easy answer would be no, she didn't want to see Raphael. She could carry on with her life just fine. She could mend those broken places inside her without Heaven's help and without any love, humanly or divine, at all.

But Audrey had learned long ago that it was best never to settle for the easy answer. Her mother had taught her that, at least.

"If I wanted to see her, where would I look?" she questioned.

Uriel's eyes danced with easy light. It was evident that he enjoyed teasing her, just as it was evident that Audrey loved it. "I was meant only to guide you," he replied. "The searching you'll have to do for yourself."

"Oh, that's mean," Audrey said. And in a moment of pure mirth, she reached behind her, snatched up her pillow and smacked it against Uriel. The angel didn't seem to know how to react at first, but Audrey quickly gave him a kiss on the cheek to settle any hurt feelings.

"Will you help me, at least?" she asked, throwing her legs over the side of the bed. She noticed that she had been stripped of almost all of her clothes except for her underwear and t-shirt. "I can't go searching butt-naked, you know."

"You're not exactly naked," Uriel said. Audrey was surprised at how fiercely he blushed. "Dress yourself and come outside," he continued, pushing himself out of his chair and sidling over towards the door. "Then we'll see about searching."

The angel slipped out of the room like a shadow, the low rustle of his wings sounding as distant chimes. Audrey sat on her bed for a full minute. She stretched her arms up over her head and reached her toes down as far as she could. Pain shot through her shoulders, her muscles tight with soreness. Audrey pressed her hands flat against the nape of her neck and massaged the skin with her fingers. There were bright purple bruises on her wrists and she felt as though she were wearing some kind of corset around her chest, her ribs protesting painfully every time she tried to take a breath.

It took a considerable amount of effort to finally drag herself out of her bed. She hated to admit how nervous she was to see Raphael. Walking over to the closest, her legs trembled as if the weight of her torso were impossible to uphold. Audrey staggered against the wall, fumbling with the closest door. For a second, weakness took over and she thought about crawling back into bed. But that sort of safety was dubious, the comfort it brought short-lived. She'd have to endure her quiet fear, the roiling anxiety that made her stomach hurt and her palms sweat.

Briefly, Audrey wondered if Raphael was nervous about seeing _her_.

Maybe…if the angel was capable of feeling anything at all.

She frowned, yanking the old blue bathrobe off its hanger. She had to loop the belt twice around her hips in order to make the garment fit and even then, the sleeves came down over her hands and she had to keep tugging at the shoulders to keep them up. Her boots she found by the bedroom door and they were still sodden when Audrey pushed her feet into them. She grimaced, but then remembered what a blessing it was to feel at all. Her toes squished against the spongy soles as she walked, making a rude, sucking sound. Audrey squeaked out into the living room. Uriel was waiting for her outside. She could see the backs of his wings through the screen door.

"All right, I've held up my part of the deal," Audrey said as stepped onto the porch. The air was brisk, biting her flesh with stinging kisses. But Audrey found that she preferred the frigid temperatures to the unbearable heat from the night before. She took a deep breath and let the cold burn in back of her raw throat. It was like taking a huge sip of water.

"I'll admit, my clothes aren't exactly gonna to make it to the runway at Fashion Week, but you didn't say that I had to look like a model," Audrey continued, knowing that Uriel wouldn't understand a word of her prattle. "Now it's your turn. Enough with the guiding-stuff. Just tell me where she is, okay? I can't walk far in these boots…oh…"

Audrey blinked and took a quick step back when she got a look at the angel's face. It _wasn't _Uriel waiting for her on the porch after all.

Gabriel seemed only mildly surprised to see her. He was working a muscle in his jaw, his nose twitching as if he had caught an interesting smell.

"Sorry," Audrey muttered, her hands flying to the neckline of her robe. She suddenly felt very immodest. "I was looking for—"

"Raphael," Gabriel answered for her.

"Yeah," Audrey replied. She hated the way her heart was beating in her ears, reminding her that she hadn't quite gotten over her enmity towards Gabriel. There was a lot of stuff, in fact, that she hadn't exactly cleared up yet. She wasn't sure if she ever would.

"She wanted to see you," Michael rejoined. He was sitting a few feet away, perched on the railing with an ease of balance that Audrey still marveled at.

"Yeah," she repeated dumbly. "Uriel mentioned that…er…where is she?"

The angels answered her with a look, their eyes turned towards the front of the yard. Audrey squinted down the driveway and straight to the lake. She could just make out a figure standing on the dock, a smudge of paint against the great canvas of blue water and grey mountain peaks.

A faint line appeared between Gabriel's eyes. Audrey noticed that he was frowning. "You will go to her?" he asked.

Audrey heard the concern in his voice and she was almost touched. There was an awkwardness about the mighty angel now that could have made him endearing, had Audrey ventured to think of him as dear.

He loved his wife. That made him tolerable, at least.

Audrey didn't bother to thank Michael and Gabriel for their help. Moving to the edge of the porch, she hesitated at the top of the stairs, watching as Raphael went about her business on the dock, dipping closer to the water and then straightening, as if she were a flower bending to sunlight. Faintly, Audrey thought she heard Michael murmur something that could have been 'take care', but she paid him no mind.

She took one step down, then another. The air fell in wreaths about her, the smoke from the fires mingling with the usual morning fog. Up in the sky, there were still plumes of ash near the horizon, warring with the sharp hue of azure that settled over the valley.

_Smoke and mirrors_, Audrey told herself. _Hot ashes and trees.* _

She walked over to the lake.

Raphael didn't look up when Audrey's heavy boots rang out over the wooden planks. The angel was crouching by the water, rinsing the soot from her arms. The folds of her gown were likewise smeared with black, her dark hair falling in elfknots around her narrow shoulders.

"Hey," Audrey said when she had gotten as close as she dared.

Raphael shook her head as if trying to dispel her solitude. "Oh my," she said, her voice erring towards prim. "You are a stealthy little creature, aren't you?"

"I thought you were expecting me," Audrey said.

"I was," the angel replied, "and I wasn't." Raphael gracefully crossed her legs, sinking down onto the edge of the dock to sit. After a moment, the girl joined her.

"Rough night?" she joked miserably.

That earned her a convulsive twitch of a smile from Raphael. "I have had better." Lightly, she touched Audrey's bruised wrist with cool hands. Her fingertips left moist prints on the girl's skin. "You should rinse the gash on your cheek," she added, pointing to Audrey's cut. "There are beads of ash and dirt in the wound still. Try to keep it clean."

Audrey lowered her head self-consciously. She could measure the weight of their conversation in feathers, their words light and meaningless. She wondered if she would ever feel comfortable talking to Raphael again.

"I thought that was your job," she said. "All that healing stuff."

"If I have a mind to heal," Raphael sniffed airily. "Or if someone asks for my intercession."

"What? Does that mean you don't want to take care of me anymore?"

"Last time we parted, you didn't seem too fond of my company."

"I was confused," Audrey answered.

"You were convincing," Raphael replied. She bit her lower lip. "It would have ended then, you know. And it could still end now. I don't need persuading this time. I won't stay where I'm not wanted."

The hard edge in Raphael's voice caught Audrey off guard. She shifted her legs, trying her best to keep the cloth of the robe over her knees. In the lake, tiny fish pecked at the water's surface, rising suddenly, then falling back underneath, leaving only thin rings in their wake. Audrey counted the ripples.

"There are a lot of hurt feelings," she noted, "plenty enough to go around." She paused, then added, "But if there's anything I've learned from my parents, it's that all the 'he said' 'she said' shit doesn't get you very far. It's like playing a game that no one's ever good at. You just deepen that hurt, you know. It's hard to make it stop, but it's so easy to make it worse."

"Such is the wisdom of mankind," Raphael added when Audrey had finished. "You can speak in psalms and hymns, but still listen to the serpent."

Audrey's nostrils flared. She felt some of her own defiance stirring. "It must be really convenient," she snapped, "for Heaven to blame _us _for everything that goes wrong. Now I might not be a theologian or a saint, but I know there's a passage in the Bible that says you have to remove the log from your own eye before you even think about taking the splinter out of mine."

Raphael lowered her head. The early rays of morning sunlight touched her damp arms and made the droplets of water glisten like dew. But there were still patches of soot on her skin, dark, rough places where the fire's hate had burned through.

"Physician," Raphael mumbled, running her hands along her forearms, "heal thyself."

They sat in silence for a minute, an uncomfortable quiet that wrapped the gauzy remnants of smoke and fog around their shoulders. Audrey glanced to her left. Raphael looked as though she were sitting on a cloud. All she needed was a harp and a proper halo and the tableau would be complete. But appearances were deceiving, the girl knew. She remembered what Uriel had told her about Raphael's place in the celestial hierarchy, how she was an angel of the highest order, a Healer, an extension of God's grace visited to mankind.

That was all well and good, of course, but Audrey didn't think mankind needed some holy, shining guardian who walked only in the light when the earth was mostly in the dark. At least, that's not what she had ever needed.

The wind blew away the wisps of fog and smoke. Audrey felt her body relax in the clear blades of sunlight. Raphael flexed her wings, a few of the feathers withered by the fire. Audrey couldn't help herself. She reached out and touched one of the frayed feathers, stroking the exposed quill that was blackened to a sharp point.

Raphael winced and pulled her hand away.

"Sorry," Audrey found herself muttering. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Raphael's eyes widened and all of sudden, Audrey understood what she had said, what had slipped out of her when she wasn't paying attention. The words had dropped from her lips, ringing with the truth they had both been careful to avoid. Audrey realized that she was guilty of many things and not the least of all were her sins against Raphael.

"Are we really going to sit here like this?" she asked at last. "I don't think you plucked me out of that fire just so we can remind each other of how cruel we can really be."

"That isn't true," Raphael said.

Audrey's face registered defeat. She felt her eyelids swell in the effort to hold back her tears. "But why did you save me then? Why didn't you pick someone else? Why did you bother at all?"

"I saved you because I was selfish," Raphael answered. Her expression was raw, the lively color drained for her cheeks and she looked wild, for a moment, as she had when they were both sinking in river. "Most mothers are," she finished.

Audrey's heart throbbed. She touched a few trembling fingers to her collarbone. "Oh," she said on a wheezing sigh. "Oh."

Raphael's toes peeked out from underneath the hem of her gown. She rested her cheek on her knee, her countenance smooth and undisturbed, as if a wave had passed over her, but was now settled. Her eyes were wistful.

"I have learned," the angel said, "that there are some things that must remain unchanged. Effort counts for nothing, as does ignorance."

"Are you talking about fate?" Audrey finally asked. The sun warmed the water and she smelled that fishy odor mixed with lichen and sand and old wood. And then there was Raphael, of course. The angel still smelled like lilacs.

"I don't care for the word fate," Raphael admitted. "It's too rigid. It cannot encompass all that we desire and all that we are meant to do. And if you believe in fate, then there must be something said for chance. I do not think it was chance that brought me to you."

"What then?" Audrey questioned sharply. Raphael's keen vision frustrated her. It was unfair, she thought, that she should be made to walk through a bank of fog while the angel saw clearly from her dizzying height in the celestial sphere. It wasn't right that Heaven could speak its language while humans struggled with their Tower of Babel.

"Let us call it faith instead," Raphael replied, "for faith and doubt are the only rules our souls can hope to follow…or disregard."

"For an angel, maybe," Audrey groused.

"For all of us, under God."

"Don't get me started with religion," Audrey said. She stuffed her hands inside her robe's voluminous pockets, warming her fingers against her thighs. She was content to be irreverent, even in the face of the Almighty.

"It doesn't matter what you believe," Raphael chided gently.

"Funny," Audrey replied, running her tongue along the back of her teeth. "I think I've heard that before." She thought of Michael and his seeming nonchalance about matters of faith when he first arrived at Paradise Falls. For some reason, she couldn't shake the feeling that it really was all about faith for these angels, even though they themselves probably didn't realize it.

The understanding gave her a bit of superiority. Audrey grinned crookedly. She liked imagining that Michael, Raphael and Gabriel were just as flawed as she was. She liked thinking that they could be like her, or at least, were no better than the human souls they supposedly shepherded.

It leveled the playing field a bit.

And indeed, Raphael looked appropriately cowed, as if she were somehow daunted by Audrey's defiance, or at least her indifference. She dropped her bare feet into the water, her toes skimming the surface. Audrey thought she must feel terribly cold. She had the insane urge to take off her bathrobe and put it around the angel's shoulders.

"Then you have no use for me," she said.

Audrey grimaced. That wasn't exactly true, but how could she ever admit it? After a minute of hesitation, she shrugged. "You were never really useless," she told her. "Not for me, anyway."

"But I asked you for something you couldn't give," Raphael said at length. "I shouldn't have asked you for anything."

Audrey's stomach soured, acid burning in the back of her throat. Guilt left tiny pinpricks in her heart, sharp stings that were impossible to ignore. She didn't know why she bothered to care after all these angels had done to her. And she didn't know why she so desperately _wanted _to care, as if her fragile little life depended upon it.

"You can ask me whatever you want," Audrey replied, tossing a strand of her dirty hair from her face. "I can't promise what I'll say, though," she added, wondering if she could ever rely on herself again, or did the fissures inside her run too deep to ever be closed.

Raphael pushed her lips out as if she were going to kiss someone. "Can we…" she began, then hesitated. "Can we try again?"

"Try for what?" Audrey demanded. When the angel didn't respond, she let her annoyance show. "Look, I at least have the right to know what we're trying for. You owe me that and a lot more, Raphael."

A sprinkling of tears decorated the angel's flushed cheeks. She tried to wipe them away with the side of her hand. "Oh Audrey," she said in a trembling voice, "I wish I was your mother."

The words hung in the air between them. Audrey had to look away from Raphael. She turned her head, gazing up along the dock to the front of the cabin. Michael and Gabriel were two shadows on the porch, an awkward pair of brothers who had found something they needed in each other. And then there was Uriel, squatting on the front steps, who always seemed to be forgotten, although Audrey would insist that they start to remember him for now.

They were a strange family, these angels. Good thing she fit right in.

"Well," she said, helping herself to another sigh. "I thought you already were."

**The End  
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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Ahhh, it's finished! I'm both relieved and sad. Truth be told, I'm going to miss Audrey. She was never my favorite Legion character, but she's definitely grown on me.

Thank you all so much for sharing this long journey with me! This story wouldn't exist without the support of my readers. You've all inspired me with your reviews and encouragement. I cannot possibly express how grateful I am for each and every one of you.

Now, the million dollar question, would any of you like to read more of Audrey's adventures with her new angel family? Perhaps a little more Uriel/Audrey action? As it stands, I do have some _tentative _plans for a continuation of this story, so if you'd like to see it, sound off!

Until then, goodbye for now!

_*The line 'hot ashes and dreams' was taken from the Pink Floyd song 'Wish You Were Here'._


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